No Yellow Pencils
by Ruth Piwonka
Summary: Dark times are coming for all in the XFiles' office. PretenderXFiles crossover. The 9th Departure episode 1.
1. Chapter 1

"No Yellow Pencils"

Chapter One

Marriott Hotel, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 22nd, 2001, 2:38 p.m.

The dimly lit ballroom was in stark contrast to the bright LCD projector's throw to the screen. A figure with a low, non-imposing tone narrated the presentation whilst pausing every now and then to point with his laser pen. It was actually beginning to annoy Scully. First of all, the house lights were too low for her to take notes, and secondly, she couldn't see the speaker. This was the third time in fifteen minutes she had checked her watch, and the next break in the seminar did not occur until three thirty. She honestly did not know how long she could hold on before the comforting lull of slumber overpowered her.

The distracting sound of a pen clicking on and off suddenly broke Scully away from her sudden narcoleptic episode--it was occurring right behind her. She spun around, eyed the offender, the pen, and by the twitch of her jaw and an irked eyebrow, it immediately stopped. Scully turned around and slumped back down in her chair as the lecturer was now approaching some pictures of the human organs. _Finally, some hands on material_, she marveled. _I could use the stimulation_.

"Note the tomography of this subject. Victim was thirty-two years of age and found to have no respiratory or cardiovascular difficulties whatsoever. The EKG charts were virtually flawless throughout her life, and had no genetic history of cardiogenic shock. How then, did the subject perish?" The question, unfortunately, was rhetorical, and the pathologist dragged on. "The answer..." he advanced to the next slide of a close-up of the heart, "whoops..." and then to the next, "sorry. Ahem, the answer, uh...was found through our toxicological team--took them 16 hours to get at this. High levels of lithium carbonate in the bloodstream with fluoxetine was the deadly combination. Subject suffered from depression and had been taking fluoxetine regularly for the last ten years. Lithium carbonate was introduced orally into the digestive tract--probably ground up into a powder and slipped into the victim's soup."

_How much? It's not that severe of a drug unless..._

"Subject was abusing the prescription fluoxetine. The prescription dosage was 300 mg--the accumulation found in the blood was over 900 mg. The lithium carbonate levels were just below eight hundred. Time of death upon discovery was about at twelve hours--just enough time passed for the lithium carbonate to interact with her accidental overdose with the fluoxetine." The next slide was black. "Could we have the lights, please?"

As the room's chandeliers and halogen overhead fixtures' glow became stronger, Scully could for the first time see who had been talking. A long lunch break and a brief conversation with her mother had been the cause for her tardiness to the second half of this weekend's pathologist seminar. In fact, she missed the first half an hour; no wonder she felt restless--she had no idea what the presentation's theme was.

The lecturer smiled and fixed his chestnut eyes upon the LED clock's digital face that was resting atop his podium. His gaze seemed to envelop her as it sailed across the room--for a moment, this man's eyes had the same effect Mulder's did--as she thought about it, she swallowed a gasp. His expression turned from boyish glee to morbidity.

"It seems to be more of a trend amongst younger murderers nowadays to utilize prescription drugs against one another. Not only does it show a complete awareness of the type of pharmaceuticals prescribed out there, but it draws up another issue. How do they get a hold of this? Do they hijack trucks? Do they bribe psychiatrists and other physicians? Since lithium carbonate _is _a legitimate depressant, a simple screening done after a post mortem exam will not raise any questions. I urge you, ladies and gentlemen, to be more thorough in your screening. I know how much the murder rate is soaring throughout our country, and I'll be even more candid with you. As we grow tired throughout the workday, judgment calls and focus can become lethargic. How can we solve that? We say no to that extra autopsy that's waiting in the refrigerator--until tomorrow. We owe it to the victims to be at our best at what we do. While we often work hand in hand with the law enforcement professionals who receive the glory for everyone's hard work, we are the voices of all the wrongly murdered. The autopsy this afternoon will be at five and will be performed by myself. Thank you." As he stepped down from the podium, he withdrew his notepad and the convention's host took his place.

"My fellow colleagues, please help me thank Dr. Jarod Verne, our chief medical examiner from Marion county," she announced excitedly, and a thunderous round of applause burst out as he bowed slightly. Verne's beam returned and he sat back down in a chair with the rest of the previous lecturers at a pleated white clothed long table. "Wow--my goodness. Who says that pathologists only have a gift of talking with the dead?" The applause faded and a bit of laughter soared across the crowd at the MC's joke. "We only have room for perhaps five more people at this evening's autopsy, so if you'd like to take the shuttle over to the chief coroner's office, the sign-up sheet is over at the back of this room. Well...good timing, too, Jarod--seems that we'll get out of here early today and beat downtown traffic. Tomorrow morning's seminar will be brought to us by Dr. Karen Moss, Chief Medical Examiner of Cuyahoga county in Ohio and will start at 8:30 a.m. sharp. Good afternoon and please, help out the hotel staff by using the garbage cans located around the room for your waste. Thank you."

Scully had to admit that she was surprised by this doctor's humanity. He did treat his patient like a typical scientist--detached, cool. Yet his tone at the end seemed to edify everyone in the room. She was glad that she had signed her name on the shuttle list as she arrived late; the table with the sign-up sheet was now swamped. A vibrating noise snapped her out of her reverie, and she fished the phone out of her suit jacket pocket. When she saw who the caller was, she shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Hello, Mulder."

"I've been trying to reach you for a while," came the response.

"You know how these seminars can be, Mulder. Don't the lecturers at the APA functions you attend drag on for hours upon end?"

"Scully, that's all psychiatrists and psychologists do in the office--listen, I mean. We study behavior and man's livelihood at the APA conventions, too. Pathologists like yourself, well...I guess you prefer a lot of dead silence." She bit her lip and her tongue nestled itself into her inner cheek. "C'mon, Scully, you know you want to laugh," he egged her on.

"I do not."

"Come on. I can see the corners of your mouth turning up."

"And that's all you're gonna get for now." He was starting to make her blush--how did he do that? He was hundreds of miles away, and yet within one minute of conversation, Mulder had her feeling nearly as pliable as play-dough. "So, what's up?"

"You know, I've been going through that box of X-Files you brought over and..." his pause on the line told her that he was mining for the golden answer and that alone gave her goose bumps. But there was no way on God's green earth that she'd give him the satisfaction of that knowledge.

"_And_..." she pressed him. Scully headed out of the hotel lobby and went for the revolving door.

"Uh...when do you get back?" _Finally. He asked the damn question_.

"Tomorrow night--late."

"Oh," his tone reeked of disappointment. "So, what was the highlight of today's autopsy?"

"Dr. Verne hasn't performed it yet." _Hmm...he seems nervous...I'd better keep away from revealing genders or else he'll go off the deep end._ "But, I'm looking forward to it--Dr. Verne spoke about being devoutly thorough with tox screening. To prove the point, Verne showed us a case where the victim abused a prescription anti-depressant but was killed with a downer. Had Verne not double checked the chemist's findings and made the person run another exam, he might not have discovered it." _Shit. Here it comes._

"Does this mean you're gonna make me stay for all your autopsies now?" He seemed to be interested. Scully let her guard down a smidgen and began to stroll for a Wendy's about five blocks away.

"No. I'd appreciate the company, though." After another few moments of difficult silence, she again broke the ice. "How's William?"

"Well, he just ate an enormous meal consisting of a NY strip steak, green beans, mashed potatoes, a Caesar salad, and baked Alaska." His jovial tone made her sigh gladly. _Good--I don't have to walk on pins and needles._ "After he ate, he went right to sleep. I bet he's gonna wake up in a few minutes. You know how short his afternoon naps can be."

"Mmm...actually, I think _you're_ the one who knows better than I, Mulder. And I really appreciate your caring for him while I'm out."

"You're welcome. You know, Scully, I was kind of wondering..." She waited for him to finish as she crossed the street with the traffic signal. "Remember how you asked me a couple of years ago to donate for your...uh...inviterofertilization?"

"Yes?"

"Did you...I mean...I wasn't quite sure of what to think of us when you asked me to do that. The thoughts running in my mind were something akin to 'Wow, Scully wants me to be a father' to 'Does this mean I have to give alimony?' to 'If this works, will I be the father or just, you know...a sire'. I'm actually happy that it didn't work, and I guess you could call it one of the miracles of your God or whatever, so now I don't have the exact same thoughts."

"You're beating around the bush, Mulder. Are you asking if I want you to be William's father?"

He breathed rather heavily into the phone, relieved at last that she had had the gumption to get to the point between the two of them for once. "Yeah," he answered vicariously.

Truthfully, she'd wished that he'd gone back to his humor and lewd one-liners. But they'd done plenty of skirting in the past--it was time for her to put all of the cards onto the table. "He's ours, Mulder. No, I don't expect child support from you, and-"

"I'll pay it," he interrupted her. "I wasn't trying to complain about it before, it was just a thought that ran through my-"

"Stop babbling, Mulder. Right now, I don't think alimony is necessary--I just can't accept it--not yet." Scully opened the door to Wendy's and leaned against the side of a garbage bin as a patron dumped her tray's contents into it. "I'm sorry to have to do this, Mulder, but I've got to go."

"Oh...going in under the knife with Dr. Verne?" _I knew it--he's getting jealous._

"No. I can't order from a fast food restaurant and talk on the phone at the same time."

"Right, fine. What's his first name again?"

"Mulder, you are _not_ going to terrorize the Lone Gunmen into performing a background check on this man. First of all, he's a respected member of the medical community, and secondly, this will not be a one on one experience. At least twenty other people will be in the room with me."

"Sounds like a cozy gathering, and who said I was going to have them do it? I'm just as capable of doing background checks myself."

"I'm warning you, Mulder...Hell hath no fury..."

"Like an angry FBI woman, yeah, okay. Scout's honor, then." Before she could argue, he disconnected his side of the call first. She gritted her teeth and slammed her phone shut.

"It's like reasoning with a six year old sometimes," she mumbled and stepped toward the line. After she ordered her garden salad, Diet Coke, and baked potato, Scully sat down to eat in peace. Well, although there was not much noise in the restaurant, the cacophony raging on in her head was deafening. The sexual frustration was killing her, but yet, on the other hand, she did not want to rush into things. Ten years ago, she had rushed right into things at work. Her fiery relationship with Jack, although exciting within the first three months, had dwindled into the remnants of a bonfire. Two months later, Scully was the one who broke it off. She had been giving all of herself, and Jack did nothing but receive.

There were some good times: the trip to his parents' cabin, a daring but fast encounter in a closet at Quantico, and the only time that she almost forgot to turn off the stove in her apartment. He was so driven, so unpredictable, at first. But then his work consumed him. Scully tried to distract Jack and pull him away, but then it became clear to her that he wasn't in this relationship with her for them. It was an outlet for his emotions, and although she was pretty sure that Mulder was not the same, she had to be absolutely positive.

"Could I borrow your salt, please?" A man's voice made her look up instantly; and behind a pair of wire rimmed spectacles, she recognized Dr. Jarod Verne's cinnamon eyes.

"Sure," she nodded and passed the condiment to him.

"Thanks." He salted his "Biggie" fries, put it back on the table, and was about to return to his seat when he noticed someone had taken it. "Oh," he muttered.

"You can sit here if you want," Scully offered and cleared the seat across from her place.

"Thanks again. I guess...I'd better introduce myself. My name is Jarod." He set down his fries, wiped a greasy hand onto a napkin, and shook her hand.

"It's Dr. Verne, right?" When Jarod gave her a puzzled look, she beamed with the same kindness that she normally reserved for children. "I've been attending the conference--Dana Scully."

"That's right, it is. I'm more of a first name basis type of guy--would it be too presumptuous of me for Dana and Jarod?" Already her mind was racing towards shock--it was possible that he would be trying to pick her up. She saw no wedding ring on the proper finger, but Daniel didn't wear his either--at first. Scully decided to take a chance.

"No, not at all." Jarod picked up his fries and continued to attack them voraciously.

"So, will you be attending the demonstration this afternoon?" She liked how Jarod was considerate enough to not mention such a taboo thing such as 'an autopsy' in the middle of a restaurant. Mulder never even thought twice before bringing it up. In fact, many of their conversations over dinner involved unmentionable things--but those discussions did eventually lead to breaks or new building ground in a case.

"Yes, I definitely have it in my plans." _Please don't let this be leading up to a date._

"Good. I actually have no information whatsoever about the subject, so it'll kind of be a surprise. Where're you from, Dana?"

"D.C. I'm a federal agent, actually."

"Really?" He stopped eating for a moment and blinked. "NSA or FBI?"

"The Bureau."

"That's interesting--I've consulted with quite a few FBI agents, and this is the first time I've ever met one that didn't use his or her title."

"Well, I didn't have to this time. It was nice," she smiled wistfully and ate a cherry tomato.

"Do you do your work over at Quantico?"

"I did once, but, I currently do field work at the Hoover." _But I don't know for how much longer_, she mused. "And what about you, Jarod? Have you lived in Indiana all of your life?"

"No, I...uh..." He seemed uncomfortable with the question. "I lived in Delaware for about thirty years of my life, and I decided to move. So I did, and now I do temporary work. I guess it was because I was stuck in such a small place for such a long while that I don't like being anchored down anywhere for longer than two or three months."

"Why didn't you leave Delaware earlier?"

"I was obligated to stay--uh, I had to finish 10 years of residency at a state institution because of some loans for medical school."

"Hmm, I understand. It took me until '95 to get my bills paid. When did you leave?"

"Five years ago."

"And you've just been...hopping about the country doing pathology?"

"More or less," Jarod grinned and drew back his cuff to glance at his watch. "I'd better get to the morgue and scrubbed. It was nice to meet you, Dana. Maybe one of these days, I'll get around to D.C."

"See you soon, Jarod." Scully put down her fork and acknowledged him with a brief nod. As she finished her late lunch, her phone cried out for attention. Sighing with resignation, she dug the mobile unit out of her pocket and noticed the caller again was Mulder. Although a part of her wanted to finish their earlier discussion, another part told her to turn it off and focus on the conference here.

_Why did you come to this weekend seminar, Dana? It certainly wasn't to get away from Mulder, or was it?_

"Maybe he's not giving me enough room to breathe," she grumbled and threw out her waste.

_You're on the FBI's dime, g-woman. Worry about personal problems later_. _Besides, you know you can't go into an autopsy bay without a clear mind._

She ignored the phone's incessant chirping and forwarded the call to her voice mail. Scully traveled outside and unlocked her rental car. It was time to get back to the hotel and get changed before the shuttle came to pick her up in an hour.

Eastern Marion County Morgue, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 22nd, 2001, 5:05 p.m.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Jarod addressed the group as they all donned themselves in aprons, disposable facial masks, and safety goggles. He kept his mask below his chin as he spoke. "I've been told that the body we are to examine is currently unidentified--so to avoid confusion, the subject will be known as Jane Doe until further notice. Carlos, could you please turn on the lights?" He raised his voice to the assistant in the next room.

The doctors followed Verne next door and crowded themselves around the operating table besides him. Verne carefully lifted the sheet off of the body and arranged it below the waist. "Decedent is a white female, age is approximately in her early twenties. This is for the record--victim was reported mugged and unidentified. It is the standard operating procedure of the state of Indiana to fingerprint and collect DNA from all unidentified bodies, and it will be done at the end of the external examination. Okay--at a first glance, I'm not seeing very much evidence of struggle here. There's evidence of blood loss, and that's what she died from. But these markings on the neck are precisely on the aorta--she's been exsanguinated."

"Exsanguinated?" a fellow pathologist repeated. "Are you kidding me? This woman's been mugged and stripped--I find it incredulous that some street crook would know how to blood let a woman to death."

"Precisely," Scully interjected. She had been observing Verne from the other side of the slab and now slid her mask below her chin to continue. "This is a farce--not done just by anyone. Her body was moved to the street after her clothes were gone. Notice the saturation of blue to the extremities and fingertips. If I may, Dr. Verne?" The others stood aside as she journeyed to the head and forced open one eye. As she suspected, a filmy yet familiar black substance covered the iris, and she pulled her gloved hand away expectantly. However, the oil did not ooze out of the eye--it was deathly still.

"What the hell is that stuff?" another doctor exclaimed.

"The stuff that nightmares are made of," Scully responded evasively. "Dr. Verne, would it be possible to continue this autopsy at a later date due to this discovery?"

"You've seen this before. And this discovery is precisely what?" Verne's head cocked to the side and wrinkled his forehead.

"Possibly a virus that needs to be contained."

"How is it transferred?"

"It appears to be dormant now, but it can be airborne within a few feet when active," Scully stated and doubled checked with a quick sidelong glance that indeed the oil was lifeless.

"All right. Sorry, everyone--it looks like we're going to have to quit for today. Um, I could arrange for an autopsy tomorrow morning if anyone feels cheated out of today's mishap," Jarod announced. The group of doctors turned; all left save Scully, who leaned onto the gurney with one gloved hand. The other remained planted on her hip. "Did you expect that later date to be now, Dana?"

"I wanted to clear the bay from the general public. I only told half of the truth--this was a virus, and it's dead."

"What is the other half?"

"Its origin is not from our planet. And if the situation is what I think it is, then this city is in trouble."

"What situation? And this virus comes from aliens? The virus is a carbon-based organism--it cannot travel throughout space."

"Cultivate some of it from the victim--you'll find no traces of carbon in that oil whatsoever."

"Quite a paradox you've got there; you call it oil, yet it's not really oil."

"When you think of a better name, let me know," Scully began to get impatient and supported herself on both feet now with her arms crossed. Jarod shrugged, opened an ink pad, and began to print each finger onto his report.

"How many cases like this have you come across, Dr. Verne?" she questioned him.

"This is the first one that's been delivered to my morgue. What're you surmising?" He eyed her as he strolled over to the other side of the body and did the same procedure with the victim's left hand.

"Find out how many others have died just like this in the past forty-eight hours."

"And why would I want to do that? Are you suggesting that they've been abducted and killed by aliens?"

"No. Just humor me, please. This certainly can't be the only morgue in Indianapolis," Scully huffed.

"It most certainly isn't," he sniped back. "Are you trying to muscle me with your federal credentials?"

"Not yet. Please don't make me waste my breath," she answered quietly. After a few tense moments that dragged on like minutes, his expression softened.

"Just deaths? Should I look for this condition in any hospital?" Jarod paced over to the office phone mounted to a wall plate and picked up the receiver.

"Only the dead."

"And if I find more?"

"Then it looks like I'll be spending more time here in Indianapolis." He dialed and was immediately put on hold after he specified the victim's posthumous condition.

"I don't like this. What aren't you telling me?" Verne inquired and cupped his hand over the receiver's microphone.

"My department deals with cases that are somewhat...out of the ordinary. In fact, many of them seem very extraordinary--I have difficulties knowing what to believe at times being a scientist first..."

"I see. How long have you been an agent?"

"It'll be ten years in May. And you?" Jarod lifted his attention to a calendar on the wall and then to the clock before responding.

"Two days, nine hours, and fifteen minutes." Scully pursed her lips firmly together and lowered her head to one side. "Well, in this city anyhow," he finished with a charismatic grin. "Might I ask how long you have known about this virus?"

"Roughly five years, maybe six."

Her answer surprised him, and he shook his head in shock. "Did you even _think_ to report this to the CDC or WHO?"

"Remember how I asked for the bay to be cleared before I told you about it? Officially, our government knows nothing, unofficially, however...you wouldn't even begin to believe some of the operations I've seen going on," Scully mused. "So what drew you to Indianapolis?"

"Hold on, Dr. Scully, I'm sorry," he held up an index finger and immediately started to listen to his phone informant. "Hello, this is Dr. Jarod Verne. Did your assistant tell you what I was looking for? Uh-huh. Yes, that's correct. You did? Yesterday? Why wasn't I told? Yes, I checked the morgue database, damnit, I'm the Chief Coroner! Well, what was this victim's name?"

Verne pointed to a pocket sized blue memo notebook on a counter that was lying on the bay near the woman's feet, and Scully handed it to him. "No identification? John or Jane Doe?" he continued to interrogate the other coroner. "Okay. Well, next time, no matter what looks 'weird' about the body, include it on your summation no matter what! No, don't panic, I'm not going to fire you. What should you do with it? Keep the body wrapped in your cold storage. I've got an associate here that has knowledge of this condition and possibly containment." He glanced upwards at his companion to reassure himself, and Scully nodded.

"Was the oil kinesthetic or inanimate?" she inquired and Jarod repeated the question.

"He says it was inanimate," he told Scully.

"It's all right, then. It's dead."

"Did you hear that? Good. Now could you write up the rest of those details and send them via email to me ASAP? What? No, you don't need to spend any more time disinfecting yourself after you leave tonight. I'm sorry to rush you on this, by the way, did I interrupt you from another autopsy? Oh. All right, then. Well, I'd actually appreciate it if you could put that one aside for now and work on this, please. Yes, it's important, but no, it's not an emergency. Thanks." He hung up the receiver, motioned for Scully to follow, and led her out of the morgue into his office. "He was afraid to tell the truth. I want to find out why."

"I should warn you, Dr. Verne, before you choose to venture down this way, that it's a very ominous path."

"What, you mean, the truth? I wonder how open he was with Dr. Ward. Now I'm curious to see how many details of other cases were left out because he felt threatened by him. Quite a fine time to be retiring." The slight bobbing of her head and her reticence immediately silenced him.

"Or maybe Dr. Ward didn't exactly...choose to retire," Scully replied.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Scully's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

April 22nd, 2001, 7:49 p.m.

"I really appreciate your coming over here like this, fellas," Mulder called from the kitchen. He opened the microwave oven and retrieved a bottle of milk. Hopefully, it'd be warm enough to keep William satisfied, but not too scalding hot that he'd burn his tiny mouth on it. _Well, there's only one way to check it out._ Mulder stuck his index finger carefully in, and thankfully, the temperature was just right.

"Does Scully keep any beer in that fridge, Mommy Mulder?" Frohike asked and strolled over from the table.

"Not regularly, I don't think. She's always saying that it's got far too many calories." The gnome grunted and turned his back as Mulder screwed the bottle's nipple on. "But if you're really dying for alcohol, I think Scully's got some scotch stashed here somewhere. Good luck with that; you'd probably find the city of Atlantis first."

"I think we'll survive," Byers told him, shut her front door, and set his laptop upon Scully's dining room table. "Langly had a date tonight."

"I really should get my hearing checked by a specialist. Did you just say that Langly had a date?" Mulder questioned him and headed for William's crib. "Who's the lucky woman?"

"Think we should tell him?" Byers asked Frohike, who shrugged.

"He doesn't talk to anyone else but Scully."

"Yeah, but, she works with Scully."

"I think Langly said Scully consulted with her a couple of times. That's not the same thing."

"Do I know this woman?" Mulder came back from Scully's bedroom with a full bottle.

"Oh, ah...why's it still...uh-" Byers began and pointed to the object.

"He was sound asleep. Now, what've you got for me?"

"Well, we ran a standard FBI background check through our 'unofficial access', and Dr. Jarod Verne is who he says he is. He's got a clean record, too."

"Where'd he graduate?"

"Brown University, suma cum laude, pre-med, and then his doctorate came from Dartmouth."

"What about extra curricular activities?"

"Jesus, Mulder, he's a freakin' coroner," Frohike lamented. "We kind of stopped reading after the first ten letters of recommendation from his last job in Delaware."

"It's a well-known statistic that some serial killers have been part of the law enforcement community at one time or another," Mulder defended himself. "It's not like Scully to not answer her cell phone."

"Maybe she forgot to charge it," Byers offered.

"That's _my _excuse," Mulder rolled his eyes. "She's too responsible, anyhow."

"Well, we kind of had something else in mind to tell you, too, Mulder."

"Go ahead and spill it...unless it's going to cost me my Celebrity Skin subscription, too--Frohike," his eyes narrowed, and his friend held up his right hand in defense.

"I won that bet fair and square, Mulder. Are you telling me that--oh, I see." He frowned and stroked his chin. "How much longer must you wait, man? Grab a bottle of wine one night and go for it!"

"You make it sound like a game of _Connect Four_. I'm afraid Scully's a bit more complicated than those women you've been watching for the past two months, Frohike." Byers cleared his throat, and both men's attention returned to his laptop screen. "Sorry, John."

"We've been receiving some information from someone out in cyberspace that wishes to remain anonymous."

"There's a big surprise," Mulder mumbled.

"He won't even give us a pseudonym. That's how neurotic this guy is."

"Government employee?"

"That was the first thought that ran through my head until I read the information. Look at this file he sent us." He opened up Outlook Express and the attachment. It contained a drawn up agreement between some Middle Eastern terrorists and a few names none of them recognized. The next email that was sent to them contained some photos from the _Chicago Tribune Online_.

"Senator Ivor Neumann Assassinated" read the caption underneath the politician's portrait.

"Shootout Frees Organized Yakuza Crime Boss" and showed two police officers escorting a haughty Japanese man down a set of stone steps.

"Suicide Bomber Blows Federal Building Sky High" the last read. Two women held one another, covered with blankets amongst the remains of a gigantic and proud skyscraper.

"Got any more ideas?" Frohike asked Mulder.

"Langly tried backtracking—unfortunately, since this is a public anonymous address used by Hotmail, we can't find out anything about him or her," Byers stated. "We think the informant uses library and Internet cafes to send his information, but we're not totally sure."

"What does the original email say?" Mulder inquired.

"I'll let you read it yourself." He brought it up onto the screen, and the ex-FBI agent read it aloud.

"Your bravery for continuing to show people the truth is admirable. I want to do the same thing, but unfortunately cannot due to my transient lifestyle. So I will send my story to you little by little—about a place filled with people that are so insidious, it will literally curdle your internal organs. They care about nothing but money. And as long as someone will pay enough, sides do not matter, i.e., morals do not exist in this organization," Mulder narrated. "These very transactions occur even upon U.S. soil. You claim that you will always print the truth, regardless of the risks. Reply back in two days to this same email address. I will provide you anything you need except my identity."

"Holy smoke," Mulder marveled finally. "I think you guys just landed yourselves a huge story—and there are no strings attached. Interesting. Got a name for him?"

"Hold on, Mulder. I'm not finished yet. We replied to this guy and asked him for all the details he could possibly give us. So he started to tell us—today. The place is called 'The Centre'. It's a huge complex in a small marine town called Blue Cove in Delaware. We first tried looking officially for the business on the Net, but there's no address. So next we searched through the DOD accounting system..."

"Ah-ah, you boys have been naughty."

"Langly's been feeling optimistic more lately. His self esteem's gone up at least ten points," Frohike broke in.

"EFT payments have been made to a corporation in Blue Cove, Delaware for certain military contracts," Byers continued. "Looks like they were selling satellite technology that could help block an enemy fighter plane's transmissions to ground control."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Mulder reasoned.

"Then he told us to check into Libya's department of defense." Byers scratched his beard and brought up another window. "The Centre also sold the same contract to them—for more money."

"Houston, we have a problem."

"There's more, Mulder," Frohike's tone grew dark, and he lifted a hand to his friend's shoulder. "These people kept this poor man prisoner for nearly 35 years and exploited his talents."

"What kind of talents?"

"Watch and learn."

"Simulation 9911. Moderator: Dr. Sydney Green. Pretender: Jarod," a distinguished man with thinning hair and an amiable face informed the camera as he faced it. He appeared to be in his early fifties, but it became more difficult to tell for sure as he moved away towards a modeled city, and a much younger man, possibly in his thirties, leaned over it. "Jarod, we need—the U.S. Government needs your help. We're in the middle of a war to stop terrorists like Sadaam Hussein."

"What needs to be done?"

"We know that several American hostages are being held here." Sydney pointed to a skyscraper that almost was a dead ringer for Chicago's Sears' Tower. "But we don't know which floor. The terrorists have a post here—on the twentieth floor. Somehow, we need to get the hostages out and destroy their front at the same time."

"The real hostages are somewhere else, Sydney. The entire target must be taken out. No prisoners, or else there will be more innocent blood. I would recommend undercover work for a team of twelve men."

"All military, yes?" Jarod fingered one of the scaled trees and yanked it away from its glued position.

"Or bring in the police. It doesn't matter. Two outside window washers set up a diversion. They blow up a window somewhere near the middle of the building. This can be done with a remote mine," the Pretender continued.

"Why not at the top or bottom?" Sydney pressed.

"Too conspicuous and many would escape. If the explosion were in the middle, neither top nor bottom would be disturbed. Have about eight men in security guard or janitor outfits disguised, and as soon as that happens, they open fire. The other two come in like this: a TV news helicopter crashes into the roof. As the general public runs out of the building, have a large assembly of weaponry to open fire on the victims trying to escape."

"Why have the uh...kamikaze pilots?"

"The point of the staged crashes is to crush the building and all inside of it. Once it begins to fall, no one will survive."

"And you're sure that the hostages won't be in the building?"

"The only casualties that will be ours will be the team."

The short clip ended, and Byers closed the laptop. "Years later after this guy created this scenario...about ten months ago, exactly, someone did this...in Boston."

"You're kidding," Mulder exclaimed. "Why wouldn't I have-...I was gone for a while, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were," Frohike remarked and sat down opposite Byers.

"My first question is: what is a pretender?"

"My guess would be that this Jarod guy did work on scenarios just like this and more. Maybe he put himself into someone's shoes, so to speak, so he could, you know, get into the person's mind," Byers suggested.

"Pinky, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Mulder wondered as he glanced at them both.

"You're not about to imply that _this_ Jarod is Dr. Jarod Verne, are you?"

"Did you get a picture with your background checks?"

"Well, you didn't say please," Frohike reminded him. Mulder's hands went to his hips after he placed the now lukewarm baby bottle onto the kitchen table. "Langly probably didn't think of it then. But it's no problem to look now."

"Actually, let's not be concerned with that. My main concern for now is that this Centre place will be brought to justice," Mulder shook his head and walked over to Scully's phone. He dialed a number that once before he never thought he'd dial willfully again.

"John Doggett," came the reply at the other end of the line.

"Agent Doggett, this is Fox Mulder. Are you busy right now?"

"I was just starting to watch the Bulls/Pistons' game on ESPN, actually."

"Save yourself the trouble. The Pistons are gonna win because they've got Dennis Rodman."

"Hmmph, well, the Bulls happen to have a couple of star players, too, I think."

"Yeah, but none of them are from another planet."

"I'm about to hang up in about five seconds or less if you've got nothing else to say, Mulder."

"Relax, Doggett, it was a joke. You know, funny ha-ha?"

The pause on the line might have just have filled a stadium up with a deafening racket of cricket chirping. "I'd like to send the boys over, if that's okay, since you're watching the game," Mulder continued.

Doggett sighed, but he knew very well before he had made a deal with Mulder for his advice what Mulder's terms were. There was to be no contact on the inside of the FBI, landlines, or over the Internet between the two of them. They never knew who was listening or watching.

"Now, wait a second, Mulder," Byers interrupted him from across the room. "We just showed you these emails because this guy wanted Americans to know the truth. We never asked you to involve the FBI in this. I'm sure if he wanted to do so, he could have sent this information to them...possibly even to you when you were still there."

"What's this all about?" Doggett's voice brought Mulder back to his side of the conversation. Mulder's lips curled, and he began to pace about Scully's living room.

"Byers, what do you hope to accomplish with this continuing article on The Centre?"

"Come on, Mulder, you know what we stand for," Frohike grunted.

"I want Byers to answer," he said curtly. "What's your goal?"

"To...tell the truth...to the people," Byers stammered.

"And what organization do the people in this country run?"

"You can't be serious," Frohike shook his head.

"I used to think it was the government. Now, I'm not so sure anymore."

"I'll admit, I've lost a lot of faith over the years, but there are still good people out there that we can ask to find the truth...to find justice. Agent Doggett is one of them," Mulder froze and spun on his heel to face his friend. "I know he'll do his damnedest."

"All right, let's go," Byers nodded to Frohike, who arose and shrugged.

"Tell your divine beauty of my undying love, which surpasses all boundaries," he joked on the way out.

"Including dignity?" Mulder inquired and hugged the phone to his chest.

The door slammed abruptly, leaving Mulder in peace. "Is this an X-File?" Doggett pressured him.

"Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it'll definitely win you some points with Kersh. I'm not going to say anything else; you know why."

"I can never complain about getting bored, that's for sure. Take care, Mulder."

DD Kersh's Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

April 23rd, 2001, 8:13 a.m.

The faux leather sofa in Kersh's atrium was not comfortable. In Doggett's opinion, a futon would probably be more cozy—you were _supposed_ to be able to sag into the cushions. There's nothing more professional than having to anchor yourself to an arm to be able to support yourself to get up to greet your superior, especially one you served in the Marine Corps with.

Magazines including _Life, Newsweek, _and _Law Enforcement Professional Defense_ littered the freshly lacquered oak table in front of him. As Doggett picked up the gun magazine, a Sauer flier fluttered to the ground. Two seconds later, a booted foot stepped onto the advertisement, and Reyes retrieved it. "Don't ya hate these things?" she asked and lay the thin flap of cardboard back onto the table.

"I never really thought about 'em very much," Doggett returned. He tossed the publication down and slid as far forward on the cushion as he could. Reyes touched her head as a sudden pain shot through her temple. "What's wrong, Monica?"

"Oh, just a little headache. I just started cold turkey last night. So please forgive me of my jitters this morning," she responded and smiled nervously.

"How long has it been since you've had a smoke?"

"Well," she glanced at her wristwatch, "about twelve hours. You know, when I quit before, in college, it was a helluva lot easier. My body must be showing signs of its old age already."

"You're not old, Monica. But maybe you should see your doctor about this. Or maybe Agent Scully when she gets back."

"It's just a little nicotine withdrawal. Believe me, John, what I'm doing now is certainly better for my health than what I was doing twelve hours ago. And now I'm getting a craving." She reached into a suit coat pocket, unwrapped a stick of gum, and shoved it into her mouth. "So, can I ask what we're meeting with Kersh about? I'm really surprised he's here...at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning."

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you about it over the phone. The Lone Gunmen and Mulder came across a source on the Internet who's started to send them information of a secret corporation that's guilty of treason against the U.S."

"Wow, uh...is there any reason why this source didn't come straight to the FBI?"

Before Doggett could answer her, Kersh opened his door and motioned for them to come inside. "Good morning, Agents," he greeted them as they filed into his office.

"Good morning, sir," Doggett replied and Reyes simply nodded to Kersh submissively.

"I'd offer you two seats, but, I don't know how long you're going to be here. Might I even begin to ask what the hell this crap is?" Kersh signaled their attention to a lengthy email printout on his bureau. "Is this your idea of a prank, Agent Doggett?"

"Not at all, sir."

"What exactly does this place...The Centre do?"

"That's why I'd like to begin an investigation, sir. From the surface, it appears that this corporation is a military contractor."

"We hire companies to make our defensive technology. It's called capitalism, John, and that economic system seems to be faring well over the past fifty or sixty years."

"I did say that that was what they appear to be. But look at those headlines. They kept a man locked up in there for over thirty years to use his mind for these crimes," Doggett countered.

"And what's your take on this, Agent Reyes?"

"I just found out about it myself, Director Kersh. But Agent Doggett wouldn't bring up a questioning case like this without good reason."

"No, he wouldn't. It sounds more like something Fox Mulder would have done," Kersh's speech slowed on the last sentence and made complete eye contact with Doggett.

"Well, he did begin the department we work in," Doggett commented.

"This isn't an X-File."

"Perhaps we could bring the OCS in on this, then," Reyes proposed. "Don't you agree that the FBI should protect our country as well as uphold all of its laws?"

"You do have a point, Agent Reyes," Kersh's expression mellowed as he gave her a sidelong glimpse. "But before we spend the taxpayers' money, I want some more answers. Right now, there are too many questions." He shuffled around to his chair and sat down. "That isn't a "no", Agents. Give me some more tangible evidence, and I'll send it to their AD first thing tomorrow morning."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Holiday Inn, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 23rd, 2001, 8:32 a.m.

Although the hotel's continental breakfast was immense and had a variety of choices, Scully settled upon a blueberry muffin and a cup of some extremely strong coffee. It was probably from Africa; South American coffees were far more gentle. Normally, she only added one or two teaspoons of half n'half to her morning java, but this blend made her feel like a heart that was receiving a defibrillator charge. So Scully found herself using quite a bit more cream this morning.

She avoided the crowded buffet room and headed straight into the lobby. A couple of those chairs looked too inviting, but then again, with another few sips from that coffee, she might just spring right out of the cushion from that caffeine high. The TV's distorted speakers blared out CNN's latest headline, but Scully paid it no mind. A storm was brewing here in Indianapolis; it was just a matter of time before she could prevent it.

Unfortunately, after she and Jarod had completed the autopsy, they still could not identify the woman. Their report was three pages long; she had been suffering from liver failure and extensive cerebrum damage. After a further investigation made by Jarod, they found high levels of methylenedioxymethamphetamine lingering in her blood stream as well as ethyl. The woman definitely had quite a nightlife, whoever she was. Jane Doe had unknowingly just given herself her last Ecstasy for the evening. Perhaps that was when she had been given the virus. In fact, that sounded like the perfect setup.

But how it entered her system was still a mystery. Scully was running out of ideas, and though Jarod had a brilliant scientific mind, he could be a little stubborn. Right now, she needed another investigator's brain. After she finished the last bite of her muffin, Scully pulled out her mobile phone from her sweater pocket. "Good morning, Sunshine!" Mulder's cheeriness welcomed her.

"Hello to you too, Poopyhead," she retorted.

"Oh, someone's had her second cup of coffee already. Been up early, have we?"

"This actually my first, Mulder. The hotel's coffee is some pretty potent stuff."

"Is it good?"

"Yeah, but I don't think I ought to have any more this morning. I might have trouble getting to sleep tonight. You're not getting bored there, are you, Mulder?"

"Well...maybe a little lonely, but..."

"I'd better not find any Empire yellow pencils stuck in my ceiling."

"Scully, I promise you, there are no yellow pencils protruding from your ceiling."

_That's enough small talk. Get back to business._

"So, how did your autopsy go?"

Scully sighed. _Here goes nothing_.

"We're not sure what to make of it, actually, between the two of us," she answered him honestly.

"Between the two of you? What happened to the twenty-something mob you were telling me about yesterday?"

"I asked them to leave. The body was unidentified and carried a rather familiar virus that you and I have come to classify as the "oil". Mulder, I don't want to say too much more over this phone, but I need your help."

"Do you want me to bring William or leave him at your mom's?" Her mouth practically dropped to the floor. He was willing to leave at the drop of a hat for her. Ironically, the tables had turned completely around in their partnership. There was a time once, when she would rather eat lousy Chinese take-out than listen to his outrageous theories—or admit that she needed him.

"Take him to my mom's please," Scully replied graciously.

"Okay. He's been fantastic, Scully. I'm totally amazed; my experiences with babies haven't really been all that good in the past."

"You're meeting all of his needs. What more could a son want from his father?"

"So, you're in Indianapolis, right? Will you be busy early this afternoon?" He seemed to ignore her last comment or perhaps just dismissed it for contemplation at a different time.

"I was going to attend the morning session as of yesterday, but that was until Dr. Verne and I came across that body," she sighed. "I _really_ don't want to begin a case without you, Mulder."

"You already did. Let's start at the morgue and go from there. Can you pick me up at the airport?"

Scully suddenly remembered that he would be paying for this trip out of his own pocket—renting a second car for the two of them was unnecessary.

"Yes. Just call me with the details when you can, please," she told him.

"Can't wait to see you; I've missed you."

Her throat immediately dried up as she tried to conjure up _something_ cognizant to say. "Uh, me too," was all she could muster.

"I'll call you soon." Just as Scully pocketed her phone and became lost in her thoughts, a finger tapped her on the shoulder. "Ah! Oh, Jesus, you scared me," she said as she whirled around to face Verne.

"I seem to do that to a lot of people. So, did you call your friend?" He was dressed in street clothes complete with a leather jacket; it caught her off guard. Yesterday, he was clothed in a suave suit and tie.

"Yes. He'll be here in a few hours."

"My colleagues cross checked the Jane Doe's teeth with our local dental practices and found a match." Jarod handed her a manila file folder. "The victim was named Vanessa Walsh. I figured your federal ties could get us some more data, which is why I didn't press the police for more than her driver's license and criminal records."

"Is she clean?"

"Yes—it's hard to believe that, though, after examining all the damage done by that methylenedioxymethamphetamine. I ran an MRI on her cranium—she ruptured at least five different pathways. Her ability to learn and understand concepts must have been more difficult as the months went on. The alcohol wasn't helping her much either. I would have given her less than two years to live if she had kept those levels at a constant."

"When did you become a neurologist, too?"

"Only for two weeks; after I drove in the Indy 500."

It was such an outrageous statement; Scully couldn't stop herself from snickering. She set the coffee cup down onto the table next to her chair and motioned to the sofa beside her. He shook his head and frowned. "I'm sorry, Dana, I can't. I only stopped by to drop off the report and photos. Remember how I said that I'd arrange for an extra autopsy for the other pathologists we dismissed yesterday? Well, I'm due at the morgue in twenty minutes to scrub up for that."

"Oh, how many people are you expecting?"

"Probably about four more doctors. Why?"

"I was planning a clam bake," Scully quipped and gave him a half-smile.

"A clam bake? What does that involve?"

"Steaming clams and consuming nearly every morsel of them except the shells. Where'd you grow up?"

"Some place that didn't have them. It didn't have a lot of things, as a matter of fact." A shadow passed over his gait; she hadn't seen that kind of expression since she had told Mulder of his mother's suicide. Silence passed in between them for a few uncomfortable seconds. "So do we actually have the facilities for a clam bake?" his tone lifted.

"Not that I'm aware of. I was making a joke." This surprised Scully; for a medical examiner, he sure did have a naive sense of humor. "Would you care for another pair of hands, or is your plate full?"

"You'd be heartily welcome—the more minds, the merrier."

Mulder's Apartment, Alexandria, Washington, D.C.

April 23rd, 2001, 10:42 a.m.

"I'm sorry, Agent Doggett, I really am," Mulder apologized as he dragged his suitcase from the closet and heaved it upon his bed.

"You do realize that this case _is_ actually going to be sanctioned by Kersh, and that he'd probably condone _any_ help given to the FBI, right?"

"Scully needs me. I can't say why, but, I promise you, she's not doing anything illegal. And neither am I."

"If we can't confide in one another, how deep is this relationship going to be?"

"Crimony, Doggett, you sound like _The Parasitic Girlfriend From Venus_."

"I'm talking about trust here, Mulder."

"We've discussed this before. I trust you implicitly, Doggett—just not over the phone.""Yeah, well, I'm not so sure the feeling's mutual."

"Hey, look, _you_ were the one that asked for my help, right?" Mulder's voice immediately became prickly. "I just can't give it to you right now because Scully needs me. If it makes you feel any better, she wouldn't even confide in me over the phone, either."

"Really?"

"Yes," he sighed and shoved a few pairs of balled up socks next to his t-shirts. "You've got the Gunmen helping you out, too, you know. What's Skinner doing these days?"

"Oh, I think they transferred him into the Fraud Division...as an SAC."

"He got demoted? Why didn't I hear about this earlier?"

"Skinner's never been much of a talker, Mulder. I only heard the news when I was in the bullpen on Friday checking our mailbox," Doggett replied. "I keep on thinking to make a request for our mail to be transferred downstairs, but I forget. You know, that makes me wonder something. Why didn't you ever do it?"

"Well, Scully was the one who usually went up and got the mail. We joked between one another sometimes that it was just to remind all the other agents that although the X-Files' office is in the basement, we still had a right to our own pigeon hole in the bullpen."

"Yeah, we do. You know, Kersh practically accused me of involving you in this case.""What?" Mulder padded into his bathroom and tossed some toiletries into his shaving kit. "You didn't tell him...-"

"No, I didn't tell him anything! I trust Kersh about as far as I can throw a semi," Doggett barked. "But he said that before he signed off on anything, he wanted more evidence."

"Did you tell the Gunmen?"

"Yeah, I gave them a call just before I did you. They don't seem too excited to be sharing this stuff with me."

_Well, let's face it, you're not exactly Mr. Stealth,_ Mulder thought to himself. _Although I think if he had a face-off with Rambo, I'd put my money on Doggett._

"Next time you deal with them, do it physically, maybe with Reyes present. I think you scare them," Mulder offered.

"What!"

"They're nerds, Doggett. In a tense situation, expect their best defenses to be electronic gadgets or satirical wit. I think having a woman around kind of makes them feel at ease. Listen, I've got to get to the airport soon..."

"Do you need a ride?"

"Thank you, but no. One of my neighbors is giving me one; I fixed a leak under her sink the other day."

"Mulder the plumber, huh? I never would've figured you for being a handyman."

"Believe it or not, it's a helluva lot more relaxing than being an FBI agent."

"Have a good trip, Mulder. Would you mind giving me a call once you're in...where is it...Indianapolis?"

"Good grief, you really are a..." he stopped himself from putting his foot into his mouth and chuckled instead. "Yes, I will. Goodbye, Doggett." Mulder hung up and set his hygiene kit next to his jeans. "What did I do with that..."

He whirled around and spotted a solitaire jewelry box resting atop his chest of drawers. One of the things he'd finally been privileged to do now that he had the time was to go through his mother's estate. Mulder forgot how well his parents had lived, particularly his mother. Last week, he left William with Mrs. Scully for two days to travel up to Connecticut. There were some affairs to be settled with the lawyer, namely, to sign the deed to his mother's house and inspect the house for possible repairs.

A few times, as Mulder went through the empty house to rid it of old documents, he wondered vaguely if Scully would ever want to live there with him. He meandered through his mother's collection of jewelry. Several of the pieces were so exquisite, although he thought would look fantastic on Scully, she would probably never wear them. She was such a practical person, sometimes. _A woman should never be too pragmatic for jewelry_.

In the end after about an hour, he finally decided on giving her a silver ring embedded with sapphire cuts. He loved how the color blue looked on her; it really brought out her eyes. On certain women, he hated seeing jewelry—most wore too much, but when it came to Scully, he warmed right up from the thought. Although she wasn't his quite yet, he still wanted to give her something exotic and perhaps little by little, she'd let him in further.

A knock on his door interrupted his inner monologue, and out of an old habit, he still squinted through the peephole. There were still plenty of people that wanted him dead. But thankfully, only his neighbor Helen Xiarchos was there. "Mr. Mulder, are you ready to go?" she asked from outside, but he opened the door and let her in.

"Almost. Hi, Helen. How's the sink?" The Greek woman was in her late forties and was dressed in an olive business suit. "You look nice; where're you going today?"

"I just came from Mass. And the sink is just fine, thank you. Will you be gone for long?"

"I'm not sure. Why?" Mulder questioned her as he traveled back into the bedroom. "I'll be making some moussaka soon, and I want you to try it."

"Well, I...uh...can you refrigerate it?"

"Of course," she laughed and followed him. "But it won't keep for weeks, mind you."

"I hope to say three days, but I can't promise anything."

"Hmm..."

"You sound disappointed."

"Do you know anything about ovens?"

"Uh...I know how to turn them on." He zipped up the case after tossing the ring inside.

"It just seems to get a little too hot. And then, yesterday, my ziti casserole almost got burned to a crisp because I left it in there for two more minutes! Now I _know_ that's not normal," Helen told him.

"I'd take it up with our landlord, if I were you, Helen. I'm not an electrician."

"Okay," she soughed. "Ready?"

"Yes. Thanks, by the way."

"You refused dinner the last time. It's the least I can do."

"That's because I already ate!"

"You're skin and bones, Mr. Mulder. That's not my idea of a healthy man."

Mulder shrugged and locked his apartment door behind them as they left.

Western Marion County Morgue, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 23rd, 2001, 12:31 p.m.

"This one's a man. Our killer doesn't discriminate between genders," Jarod signaled his head towards the autopsy bay in the next room as they washed their hands and arms. "What are you hoping to discover with this one?"

"A point of entry, perhaps, for this virus." Scully completed herself first and tied an apron round her waist.

"Didn't you say it could be airborne?"

"It's likely. But I think someone's doing experiments on these people and then disposing of the evidence after they failed."

"Failed to do what?"

"Excavate the virus or perhaps suspend the cells from animation."

"May I ask what happens if this virus commandeers the body?"

"I've only seen it occur once, and I arrived at the scene _after_ the fact." As they affixed their latex gloves, safety glasses, and masks, they walked over to the table. "But basically, a completely separate organism evolves inside the human host, ingests all of the host's organs and fluids, and then it breaks free once the person's dead."

"Incredible." He went for the scalpel, but Scully stopped him first. "What's wrong?"

"Just...wait a minute." She forced the man's eye open, and the oil flowed freely across the iris. "Shit. Did your coroner refrigerate this body?"

"Well, I would assume so, but...-"

"We've got to get it back into cold storage."

"But, why? We were just about to start our-"

"Now," she raised her voice and ran to a compartment door about five feet from the gurney. The man's eye remained open, and the black death began to ooze out of it onto the sheet."Oh my...what the hell?" Jarod exclaimed.

Scully threw the door open and jerked the metal drawer out. "Hurry, Jarod! We can't let it be in room temperature for much longer!"

He abandoned all of his logic for the moment, kicked up the brakes, and quickly wheeled the cart over to her. "Should I get some help, or can you lift?" he asked.

"Let's just try it first," she grunted as she bunched the sheets that were under the body together.

"Okay, on the count of three. One, two, three!" he yelled. The both of them heaved the corpse onto the slab, and Scully shut the door instantly after pushing him inside.

"Did you see it?"

"Did I see what?"

"The creature was moving around inside of the victim. That's when the virus can jump to the nearest body—at room temperature." She removed her gloves, dumped them into a wastebasket, took 2 new pairs out of a box sitting near the surgical instruments, and proffered him one of them.

"There's something that doesn't quite sit right with me. The virus inside this man wasn't dead, but the one we found inside the woman was. What kills this virus?" Jarod picked up the hard copy of his underling's report and scanned through it. "He was over the legal alcohol limit, that's for sure. Mmm...wait a minute. Wait a minute. Do you recognize this compound?" He flipped a piece of paper over and gave it to Scully.

"I do. Have you ever heard of digitalis? It's an alkaloid that causes paralysis and if given in a high enough dosage, death."

"So our murderer drugs his victims, gives them this virus, and then bleeds them to death? Why?"

"I can't answer that question alone. We'll need to do some old fashioned detective work on that one." Scully's eyes left his for the moment and quickly went to the clock. "We're in luck; he should be arriving in half an hour or so."

"He?"

"My partner Spec...-" she stopped herself and finished simply with, "Fox Mulder."

"That's not a nickname, is it? His first name is _really_ Fox?" Although Jarod was asking his question with the deepest sincerity, Scully almost became defensive with her response.

"He prefers to go by his last name, Mulder. If he feels so inclined, I'm sure you'll find out his real nickname in no time."

Jarod's face became a question mark.

"I've got to get to the airport and pick him up. Will you still be here in a couple of hours, or should I go to the other morgue?" Scully inquired.

"Oh, I'm not leaving. I'd like to take a look at that black specimen more closely, if that's all right." She licked her lips and shook her head as she stripped herself of her equipment. "Oh, that's right. What if I examined a frozen sample?"

"I wouldn't take the chance if I were you. I remember how to get to the east side. That virus is dead."

"Hmm..." He seemed dissatisfied as he searched around in his pockets but then lightened when he recovered a Spiderman Pez dispenser. "Want some, Agent Scully?"

"Oh my word. I haven't seen one of those—probably not since my childhood. Is that how you get through your days? A sugar rush?"

"They've helped me through some of my most difficult times," Jarod admitted and held the candy out towards her.

"I'm not hungry, thanks." Scully waived him off, tapped her pockets to make sure she had all of her belongings, and exited the building.

A short voice mail message on her cell phone from Mulder told her his flight details, and after she finished listening to it, she brought the Chrysler's engine to life. She was quite thankful that the airport was forty minutes away; there were some issues to think about now that she had shelved in the past. The first one being that since she officially was not on a case, how could she get jurisdiction to deal with the police?

Deputy Director Kersh was as difficult of a man to please as it was to train a cat. He practically vetoed every single 302 in the last month that Doggett had brought up to him, and the cases were completely legitimate. There were no Bigfoot sightings, no monkey babies being born, or attacks of Fiji mermaids! All Kersh wanted the X-Files Division to do was atrophy or collect all the rest of the FBI's dust in the basement. He did, quite frequently, loan the three agents to all the other departments, though.

Reyes was put to work with VCS, Doggett was hired for muscle in Narcotics, and Scully seemed to be doing absolutely nothing except autopsies nowadays. There was not a day that went by recently when she wished to be in that tiny office discussing the paranormal. Occasionally, Kersh would let her come into his office and do so. But then he would usually dismiss the case and ask for the last one's expense report.

Secondly, these deaths were her fault. Seven months ago, Scully made a foolish decision and followed the indiscretions of her heart instead of her head to betray the FBI. She found an obstetrician by the name of Dr. Anne Gossamer, who happened to be the last remaining Eve of the 1954 Litchfield projects, and delivered her to the new Consortium in hopes of getting Mulder back. They had promised her that they would definitely be able to make a trade with the aliens for Mulder's life, but she never really believed that they were responsible for the trade when Mulder did get back, especially since he was dead upon discovery. For all Scully knew, Marita Covarrubias might have been showing her a forged alien cadaver.

So thanks to her foolish decision, the Litchfield projects had commenced to fall into place again. Killer children were now being born to some very loving, well-deserving, and unaware parents. In Arizona, the kids murdered their parents at the precisely same moment in time just like the girls in Connecticut and California had done eight years before. But unlike the case eight years ago, the dead parents had the virus living inside of them. The MO was different, but the method was the same. Scully pondered a nagging thought in her head. Could the adult Adams have been released from captivity?

The Eves had a genetic flaw; once the women reached the age of fifty, they committed suicide. But she never heard if there were any problems with the males. Statistically speaking, males are more prone to murder; hence the release of the females onto an unsuspecting population.

Thirdly, now that she had asked him to come to Indianapolis, she would have to confess her sin to Mulder. Would he ever forgive her for such a reckless choice? She did it, she thought, at the time, because she wanted to have him back so badly. These were the very people that had wreaked so much havoc upon him and his family for the majority of his life. Since Scully was a party to their new crimes, he could never forgive her.

What angered her the most was that they fed off of others' desperation. Marita Covarrubias and the Well-Manicured Man had the craft of manipulation so perfected, for a few seconds, she had almost felt the ghostly presence of Spender at the time. _He would have made a fantastic magician. The illusions he perpetuated to Mulder and me were so real, so tangible at times. He was a ringmaster of his time in the DOD. _

But every performer has his Achilles' heel. Spender's downfall was Mulder. At times, it did seem like he had spared Mulder's life and hers. But why? Was he truly Mulder's father as he dared to suggest all those years ago? Honestly, Scully hoped not. Although Bill Mulder was not the ideal father and male role model for all of Mulder's childhood, he did finally object to Spender's monstrous conspiracy against the American people. He was tired of trying to protect his family from the hideous second life he led. In the end, he paid for his crimes ultimately through his own murder.

Scully couldn't help but wish that out of all the family members Mulder lost, that his father had been the last to perish instead of his mother. She never seemed to want to develop a deeper relationship with her son. Bill Mulder had tried near his end to do so. His mother, however, pushed Mulder away at one of the most vulnerable times in his boyhood life and created a rift between the two of them. A rift that made him despair when he had to visit her later on in his life. And then Teena Mulder had the audacity and selfishness to kill herself! Ugh, how that woman made her blood boil!

Facing a bloodthirsty criminal or mutant with half a clip in her SIG Sauer was nothing compared to her fears now. She had to tell Mulder how she had violated not only Skinner, but Doggett, the Gunmen, and his life's work. Scully was never good at expressing her feelings; years of watching her father and absorbing his behavior helped her perfect her professional mask. The emotionally stronger one between the two of them was Mulder, and not only did she fear his reaction, but the lack of hers as well. Just how in the world could she convince him that she was truly sorry for her mistake?

Scully turned off of the interstate onto the airport exit. Indianapolis International Airport was relatively slow for a Sunday—maybe the real weekend traffic would start to pile up after she picked him up. Great. She did not need a traffic jam right now—today was going to be long enough. God knows how long she would be stuck in that damn morgue again after Mulder drew his own conclusions and left her alone with Jarod. But then again, maybe not. She was the FBI agent—all he could do was to offer his conjectures and theories.

She parked the car in the short term garage and headed down to the baggage claim in an elevator. Her heart was pounding away a mile a minute. _I've got to tell him this before we get back to the morgue. I doubt we'll get a decent dinner._

In spite of the grave circumstances, she smiled to herself briefly. _Just like the old days._

Scully stepped off of the lift once it reached its destination and found Mulder rushing towards her with his garment bag and carry-on. "Hold that elevator!" he yelled. It dawned on her that he didn't even notice that she'd come from it, but she held the doors open with the button. He shuffled inside and sighed gladly.

"Hello to you, too, Mulder," she rolled her eyes and scooted inside as the doors closed.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" Mulder's face wrinkled.

"Ha ha. You're funny."

"No, I'm serious. I used to work with a really gorgeous red-haired woman just like you, and you remind me of her so much..." He slung the garment bag over his shoulder and inched into her personal space. "That perfume...ahh..."

"Mulder-" He was too busy inhaling her to notice her warning.

"She only wore it to drive me crazy."

"I did not!"

"And she argued with me like there was no tomorrow just like that. I'll be damned if I don't find that sexy," Mulder's voice went to a husky whisper.

"Mulder, what if someone-"

"Walked in on us? Believe you me, Scully, if this were a skyscraper lift, I'd take you right here and now." She swallowed a lump about the size of a Wonka gobstopper down her throat, and thankfully, the doors opened to the short term parking garage. "Jesus, Scully, your cheeks are almost as crimson as your hair."

Scully glanced downward at his pants as they journeyed over to the rental and smirked. "Is that your gun, Mulder, or are you just happy to see me?"

This time, it was his turn to turn beet red. She popped the trunk for him, opened the car door, and unlocked the rest of them. "So how was your flight?"

"Uneventful but good. I got a whole row of seats to stretch out across, too," Mulder remarked blissfully.

_Oh, I can't ruin the good mood he's in. I'll tell him...later._

"I wish I could've told you more over the phone, Mulder, I'm sorry," Scully repented.

"Oh, that's all right. You, of all people know how great of an imagination I've got." He entered the car and buckled himself in.

"Right now, I've got no jurisdiction with the police, but I managed to finagle my way in with the Marion County Chief ME."

"We want the facts, ma'am. Just nothin' but the plain facts, ma'am." Scully backed the car out and headed for the parking garage exit.

"2 people are dead; one man and one woman. Both were found naked and without a wallet or purse. They were both exsanguinated. The woman was identified only by her dental x-rays, and the man was recognized by his hysterical wife early this morning. Ms. Vanessa Walsh had been abusing MDMA, aka, Ecstasy as well as alcohol, and Mr. Theodore O'Shaungnessy simply drank too much in one night. The virus Dr. Verne and I found in Walsh was dead, but the one inside O'Shaungnessy was still alive. We also found traces of digitalis in O'Shaungnessy's blood, but none in Walsh's." She stopped at the toll booth and paid the fee.

"There were no points of entry that I could see; I don't believe that the victims were injected with the oil. The carrier must still be out there. What upsets me the most, Mulder, is that there's no MO for these exsanguinations, unless it's the most obvious one I've overlooked...did I lose you somewhere?" Scully asked and eyed him through her peripheral vision as he seemed to be staring out into space.

"I'm listening, Scully. Go on," he returned.

"The most obvious conclusion would be that the Adams of the Litchfield projects have resurfaced."

"Hmm..."

"All right, who the hell are you, and what have you done with Mulder?"

"What?"

"You haven't interrupted me once in the last two minutes. Something's not right."

"I was listening to the beauty of it all. And a thought just struck me."

"Finally," she sighed. "What is it?" Scully turned at an intersection and started up a ramp to the interstate.

"Nine years ago, I was given a piece of bronze, a hammer, and a chisel. I was just admiring the finished work."

"Can we just stick to the case for now, Mulder?"

"Scully, you have everything to do with the case." _How did he know?_ _Did Skinner tell him? _Scully wondered.

"You were here only for a pathologists' seminar, and these 2 people showed up dead. You knew precisely what to do; you're a finely tuned instrument now. I'm not sure what it is you need me for, except perhaps for moral support," Mulder shrugged. "I'll give you everything I've got, Scully, which isn't much, but-"

"That's not true. I'm pretty sure how they died, but I'm only a scientist. I need an investigator—someone that can get inside of these people's minds and tell me why they died."

"Okay. Well, I'd like to meet this Dr. Verne before we get entangled in anything here. He might have some friendly links in the police department, and to impress you, he must be phenomenally brilliant," he beamed and stole a glimpse at her.

"He's got an odd sense of humor for a pathologist, that's for sure."

"Morbid?"

"No, just the opposite, as a matter of fact. He's quite child-like. I think you'll get along with him just fine." She returned his smile but then glued her eyes back to the road. "Then what you want to do?"

"Oh, the possibilities, oh the joy. Have you checked out of your hotel yet?"

"No, why?"

"When choosing between two evils, I always like to try the one I've never tried before."

"And those would be...?"

"An angry FBI woman and a wild Irish rose. Oh wait a minute, I haven't tried either."

"Mulder, I'm here on business."

"But _I'm_ not," his voice grew smoky and his hand traced her cheekbone lightly.

"I didn't ask you to come up here for that." She said the statement in a matter-of-fact tone, but part of her was pining for what he could offer her. Or better yet, what he would do for her. Scully brushed the fantasy away as if it were a pile of leaves. There would be a time for that. It was not now, especially since she hadn't told him the entire truth yet.

"You know the farther you run, the faster I'm going to chase you. Men are natural hunters."

"Go fish."

Mulder bit his lip and withdrew his hand; he knew better. The last terse remark was a caution sign that read 'Warning: Watch For Ice on Bridge', and after nine years, he had learned to play chess with her fairly well. Scully was not in the mood for any more innuendos, and soon, she would be sniping at him no matter what he said. He leaned back in his seat and silently watched the city go by.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Eastern Marion County Morgue, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 23rd, 2001, 2:06 p.m.

"And what time would you say you left last night?" a blonde male with blue eyes inquired of Jarod. His accent was one Jarod could not identify; he sounded too crass to be English but too proper to be an Aussie.

"Probably about twelve thirty," Verne answered and crossed his arms. "You know, Jacob, something strange is going on in this city."

Detective Jacob Cooper scribbled the last statement Jarod made in his red notebook and put away his pen. He walked toward the morgue's cold storage unit and pointed at it. "Is this the one? Number 25?"

"Yes." Cooper also pocketed his notes and took out a compact. He next brandished a makeup brush and dipped it inside of the blush.

"I already dusted the fridge for prints, Detective," Jarod told the man who whirled around. "It was the second thing I did after I called the station."

"What'd you use? I don't see any powder." Cooper turned back and squinted at the refrigerator.

"A solution called Sudan Black. It's good for use on non-porous surfaces."

"Since when did you become a crime scene investigator?"

"After I was a thief. Then I toured as a rigger." Jarod pointed to the bottle that was sitting near his surgical instruments.

"Good one," Cooper smiled and nodded briefly. "Okay, so you didn't find any prints. Who was the last person to leave this morgue?"

"I was."

"Were you alone?" At that moment, Scully and Mulder crossed the threshold into the examination room. She took immediate notice of the detective's gloved hands and withdrew her credentials.

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, and this is my partner, Dr. Fox Mulder. What's going on here?"

"Might I ask why the Bureau's suddenly interested in a missing dead body?" Cooper queried after taking a glimpse at her badge.

"A missing corpse?" Scully repeated the information incredulously.

"That's right, Agent Scully," Jarod confirmed, "Vanessa Walsh has disappeared from the morgue. I returned to this office after a short lunch at one-thirty and wanted to retrieve a sample for further study, but when I opened the refrigerator, she was gone."

"I can already guess whom we're dealing with," Mulder shook his head. "Were you going to tell me this anytime soon, Scully?"

"I wasn't absolutely sure about their involvement. You know how rock solid I need a lead to be before I follow through with it, Mulder," she responded serenely.

"May I continue, please?" Cooper interrupted them. "Thank you. I seem to be caught in the middle of a sinister plot here, and I would greatly appreciate being brought up to speed. But, first, Dr. Verne, please answer the question. Were you alone?"

"No, Agent Scully here was also present when I left last night. She's also a pathologist."

"Hmm, and so you two were autopsying this carcass?" Cooper went on.

"Yes, and I'd prefer it if you'd use the term 'victim', please. This was a murdered female human being, not just some run-over animal rotting on the side of the road," Scully corrected him.

"Duly noted, Dr. Scully. What's so damn important about the _victim_ that has some high and mighty FBI agent all wound up about it?"

"Detective, look at this table. It's cold, steel, and lifeless. Are you married?" Jarod inquired of the investigator, who shook his head no. "All right, then imagine your sister lying here. She's been stripped naked of both her clothes and purse. Her throat's been pierced, and she bled to death for hours...painfully...probably where no one could hear her cries. We don't even know where she died—she was moved from the original place. Would you like to see her killer found so he can pay for his crimes?"

"Of course I would," Cooper hissed.

"Well we can't do that right now because the body's gone," Scully said in her honey over the rocks tone. She ran her tongue over her top lip and crossed her arms. His demeanor instantly changed, and his features softened.

"Was she raped?"

"No," Scully told him.

"My sister...got attacked last year. She was only seventeen—those bastards," Cooper nodded with sympathy. "She didn't get killed, but...I remember seeing her unconscious, beaten body in a slump on that sidewalk. I can't tell you how much rage filled me."

"Then help us, please," Jarod coaxed him and even lifted a hand to the detective's shoulder.

"It's a promise, Dr. Verne, Agent Scully. I'm sorry, what was your name again?" Cooper directed his question towards Mulder.

"Fox Mulder."

"I heard the title Dr. Mulder used. What's your practice?"

"Psychology, but I'm not licensed," Mulder stated. "I'm a criminal behaviorist, and I consult with the FBI from time to time."

"I'm not here on an official basis, Detective. Jarod and I discovered the body's condition together while I was here for a convention," Scully reported.

"Well, since I am here on a case, I guess it's time for the whole story. Go ahead and hit me," Cooper announced and pressed play on a tape recorder.

Scully went on to privy as much information as she could possibly remember about Vanessa Walsh's body as well as Theodore O'Shaungnessy's. However, she left out all details of the Consortium and their possible involvement. When she finished, he stopped the tape.

"Wow. Well, the first thing I think I can do is go over to the club district on the south side of town. That's where she was found, right?"

"Yes, but not necessarily where she was murdered," Jarod reminded him.

"Right. I'll get a couple of my associates to do some research on her. Since she was doing X, maybe she was a small time dealer, too. You never know, they come in all shapes and sizes. Oh, righto, while I'm thinking of it, should I get a few officers down to the western morgue and have them guard the building down there since this guy's got the same condition?"

"I bet that body's gone, too, but why not?" Mulder mumbled. Cooper's puzzled expression made the ex-FBI agent go on with a sigh. "If they're smart enough to remove their fingerprints from a scene and virtually leave without a trace, they will do the same thing over at that office. They'll do it probably faster, too, since we're onto them now."

"I've got too many questions and too few answers. Right now, I feel like going out and getting some. You wanna come, Dr. Mulder?"

"Thank you, but no. I would appreciate it if you'd keep me in the loop, though."

Scully's eyebrow raised in surprise; this was the first time in a long while that Mulder had denied himself access to an investigation. But as his eyes caught hers, she knew that he wanted more information—specifically from her.

Cooper parted without saying a goodbye; he was too occupied with a conversation on his mobile phone. Mulder reached over the gurney and grasped Jarod's hand confidently. "So you're Dr. Jarod Verne? It's a pleasure—Jarod."

"And I've been told to call you Mulder, not Fox," Jarod smiled and returned the shake.

Mulder's curiosity was piqued. "Now that's interesting. You don't happen to be able to speak with the dead, do you?"

"Um, no. I was a mortician once. But I wish I had that talent. Why do you think that?"

"Oh, no reason." He traded eye contact with Scully. "They're here," he sang.

"Who's they?" Jarod questioned Mulder and signaled them to follow him into his office.

"Well, I'm not absolutely sure of the key players' identities. I think Scully can fill us in on that," he nodded as all three of them sat.

"I'm not sure if I should be name dropping at this place. They might have bugged us," Scully swept her eyes around the room.

"Who would bug a coroner's office? The most exciting conversations I have are with myself," Jarod commented, which made Mulder grin.

"Some very powerful people who are very good at what they do," he responded.

"They must be, if they make an FBI agent nervous. Okay, then we'll talk someplace else. Have you eaten yet, Agent Mulder?" The Pretender removed a pen from an inkwell and wrote on a file folder _Stay here for a moment. I'll be right back._

Mulder and Scully agreed without a word as they watched Verne disappear for a few minutes. "No, I haven't. How does Chinese sound, Scully?" Mulder asked out of the blue.

"Yummy," she replied sardonically. "You know, Mulder, there are better things in life than MSG."

"You're right. I live for Philly cheese-steaks—corn dogs are wonderful things, too."

"Remind me when our son grows up not to let you cook."

"Aye aye, Admiral Scully," Mulder saluted her and reached for her hand. She pulled away; her body language said what her mouth could not: _not here and not now_.

Thankfully, Verne reappeared just then with a gadget that looked like a portable metal detecting wand and started to sweep it around the room. "So where did we decide to eat?" he inquired and gave his visitors a jump.

"We were just discussing that. Do you like Chinese take-out?" Mulder wondered.

"I've tried sushi, but never Chinese. I hear that all the preservatives that they put into the food are really bad for your digestion tract," Jarod asserted, to which Scully gave Mulder an "I told you so" look. "But then again, I have tried Twinkies. They have a shelf life of up to twenty years if unopened. They're quite good, actually."

Scully's disdain returned, and as Jarod made a pass near the telephone, his wand began to ring as if a phone might. "Bingo," he muttered to himself and unplugged the landline. He made one more sweep and once satisfied, he set the instrument down onto his desk and sat behind it.

"That's clever. Most of those thingies just beep random noises," Scully reflected.

"Well, I was a security guard at a hotel in Vegas once. You just have to keep up with the technology," Jarod shrugged, which again, made Mulder smile. "The trick is to keep ahead of them. I also was a private eye for a week or so, too."

"So, uh, what made you quit?" Mulder caught the Pretender off guard.

But Jarod answered him quite seriously. "I kept on getting punched all the time. Tell me something, is that why they're called 'dicks'?"

"I never thought of it that way," he chuckled. "No, it's just a derogatory term like 'cop' for 'police officer'. So, Scully, I think we're safe now."

"Remember the man with the English accent? He's still alive; he didn't die in that car bomb like you thought. And Marita Covarrubias is still very well involved."

"How is it that you became reacquainted with him?" Mulder questioned Scully.

"I never told you this, but there's a reason why Skinner got so angry with you the last time you went off running after the truth. He trashed our case files—all of the ones that deal with the Consortium, anyway, because his life was in danger."

"Krycek?"

She nodded and crossed her legs. "There was a case amongst those files that Doggett and I reopened from one that dates back to eight years ago, Mulder. The Consortium's reconstructed the Litchfield program from its days of old, Mulder, and there was a pair of children that murdered their parents in Arizona just seven months ago. They killed the parents because of the virus."

"You mean to say that the children knew?"

"I'm not precisely sure how they did, but yes." She paused for a moment to let him absorb the history he missed and then continued. "There's something else you should know, though. Skinner didn't take the files because of his own life. He did it for me and William. The device that Krycek was carrying could also affect me due to the chip in the back of my neck."

"You know, when Skinner shot Krycek, I felt this peace enter me. It was for the first time in a long while that an enemy of mine received justice in full payment. I felt it leave when I entered the autopsy bay, and now I know why," Mulder's tone fell as his anger grew. "Scully, they can't win."

Jarod witnessed this conversation without a word, and it wasn't until his chair accidentally squeaked that they remembered he was even in their presence. "Does this organization have a name?" he finally spoke.

"No. It's made up of men who have the ultimate immunity to justice, so long as they protect our country from imminent invasion," Scully responded.

"So far, they've done a bang up job of it," Mulder smirked.

"Who're the invaders?"

"Maybe you should have asked which species from which planet," Mulder said.

"Uh...I'm kind of at a loss of words, here," Jarod told them as he scratched his head.

"It's understandable. Believe me, it was a long while before I could accept the fact that we are not alone in this universe," Scully commented.

"Let's not jump to any conclusions. I just remembered something, and I wonder if they thought to look here..." He arose from his seat, crossed the room to a small portable refrigerator, and opened it. "Aha. They didn't." Jarod triumphantly took out a test tube from a rack that had been marked with a blue sticker and showed Scully and Mulder his prize. "Ta-da."

"Is that Vanessa Walsh's blood?" Scully asked.

"Unequivocally yes. I withdrew it last night just before sewing up. Dana, you mentioned something called the Litchfield projects. Can you tell me what those involve, or is that information confidential?"

"I can tell you. But it's not something that I'd like Detective Cooper to know about."

"Your secret's safe with me." The Pretender closed the refrigerator, sat back down, and fingered the test tube as he listened to Scully.

"It's basically a program that engineers the ultimate undercover assassins, namely, children. You'd think, back in 1954, there was no such thing as cloning. However, some of America's most ingenious and fruitful scientists, the first genetic engineering of its kind was performed to create these children. They have the intelligence and strength of an adult--sometimes more in some cases. There were many cracks in the system; for instance, all adult Eves at the age of 50 develop suicidal tendencies. The males are named Adams, and I'm wondering if they've resurfaced, Mulder."

"You could be right," he acknowledged her.

"Well, I've got to hop over to the crime labs to process this for a workup. Is there anything else that you need me for right now?" Jarod questioned them. When they shook their heads no, he escorted them out of the office and left in his own vehicle.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The Lone Gunmen Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

April 23rd, 2001, 5:16 p.m.

Doggett made three knocks at the door and gave Reyes a quick once over. "Mulder said they were afraid of me. Is that possible?" he asked her.

"Who, the Gunmen? They can't be too scared of you. I mean, they called you over here, didn't they?" As the multitude of locks began to be opened, he motioned her attention to the door.

"Then how come they have all those locks?" The door opened, and Frohike stood aside.

"To keep those predators that run our defenses and pretend to protect our country out," he remarked as Doggett and Reyes passed him.

"What's up, Agent Doggett, Agent Reyes?" Langly greeted his friends with a smile so large, it made the two of them give him a double take. But his positive attitude was not the only thing that had changed; he had taken a pair of scissors to his long locks and trimmed his hair into a fashionable coif. He still wore his 'Ramones' t-shirt and trademark noire glasses, though.

"Wow," Reyes giggled her approval. "Why the change from scruffy to trendy, Langly?"

Before Langly could answer, Frohike ushered them towards his desktop. "Let's just say that Langly's noticed the difference between boys and girls."

Byers sat in the chair facing the computer and spun around. "Hello. Mulder told us that you needed more information before you could start your investigation. So we wrote to the Pretender this morning-"

"Excuse me, the what?" Doggett interrupted him.

"The Pretender. That's what this guy does, and that's what we've decided to call him so we can print up his discoveries in our newspapers."

"But from what he's sent us so far, we think his name is Jarod," Frohike continued.

"I don't quite follow, either," Reyes remarked.

"A picture's worth a thousand words, Agents," Byers held up a finger while he opened up a video file. "Just watch this."

A young boy perhaps ten years old was strapped into a leather bucket seat. Multiple pieces of machinery surrounded him, and he appeared to be very stressed. "Jarod Apollo I simulation," a man's voice stated off camera.

"The first warning is a flash. A spark ignites in the pure oxygen capsule!" Jarod exclaimed as flames appeared around his chair. "I try to flee, but I can't. I'm strapped in." The boy began a struggle against his seatbelt. "I know the escape procedure, but the fire, it's too hot!"

The fire grew more intense, and Jarod panicked. "It cuts into our air lines. I try not to breathe, but it's too late. I can't open the hatch. I can't open the hatch!" He bucked against the straps and his eyes conveyed fear.

"It's too hot, I, I can't think! No one can get to us! We can't be saved! I'm burning, I'm burning!" His terrified cries caused the man to run into the room and show himself to the camera.

"Jarod, I'm here, it's all right!" The flames around the Pretender died down, and he commenced to calm down.

"No one could save them. It was impossible," Jarod finally announced.

"So what do you think?" Byers asked Doggett, who had been chewing his bottom lip.

"He did simulations of real events? Why?"

"This organization forced him to for the majority of his childhood and some of his adult life," Frohike said and offered Reyes a seat, which she gladly accepted. "He also created some simulations, that unfortunately, were used to cause catastrophes."

"I bet that's why he left. What happened, did they let him go?" Reyes inquired to Byers, who shook his head no.

"He ran away five years ago," he responded. "This poor guy has been on the run ever since."

"They want him back," Doggett nodded. "He was probably their biggest moneymaker."

"Simply put, yes. They're still running in operations; according to the Pretender, their shares in the stock market have taken a spill since he left. However, he noticed, that they have been making money more recently with pharmaceuticals and defense contracts to countries hostile to the U.S., such as Libya and North Korea."

"Let's get this information on a disc."

"Wait a minute. Just whom will you be giving it to?" Langly queried Doggett and walked over to the others.

"Our superior, Deputy Director Kersh, who will then forward it to the Organized Crime Section," Doggett told them truthfully.

"Aren't _you _going to be investigating the Centre?" Byers wondered.

"Of course. We'll be involved," Reyes assured him. "You know you can trust us, John."

"Yes, but...-"

"Kersh isn't the most trustworthy boss I've had, I'll admit. But he can keep a secret, that's for sure, and he seemed genuinely interested in what this place is all about," Doggett stated and pointed to one of the monitors.

"Then why is he giving it to another department?" Frohike accused him. "Doesn't he think his own agents can handle the case?"

"It isn't truly an X-File--it's more of a case of treason and racketeering."

"Look, we weren't crazy about Mulder taking this information to the FBI at first, and now that you're palming it off to some other department, it's very tempting to stop right here and say no," Byers' brow furrowed.

"It's the best we can do for now, damnit!" Doggett finally lost his temper and smashed his fist onto the desk. The Gunmen retreated about three steps back from him. As he realized what he had done, he lowered his fist and sighed. "I'm sorry. It's been a long while since Kersh has actually said 'yes' to a case for us, and I'm tired of being hired to chase after some punk drug dealers all the time. I used to do that as a cop; and I'm beginning to ask myself what I'm doing here as an FBI agent if I can't bring people to justice."

"Will you be sending the disc or bringing it straight to Kersh?" Langly was the first one to say something after their moment of thought.

"I'll be the one placing it in his hands tonight--I'm meeting him for a drink later," Doggett informed them. "Monica, will you be coming?"

"Sorry, John, but going back to a bar too soon will probably tempt me to light up. But let me know what your plans are, okay?" He agreed and patted Byers on the shoulder.

"Good, now what about that disc?"

"It'll be done in two minutes," Byers replied and transferred his eyes back to the screen.

Indianapolis Police Department South Precinct, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 23rd, 2001, 7:02 p.m.

Scully parked the Chrysler a block away and trudged into the station alone. There had been a time when someone had been there to open the door and chivalrously guide her in with his hand on the small of her back. But since Mulder was not a part of the law enforcement community any longer, he could not go with her to the station to question a suspect. It saddened and angered her that the FBI would just throw away one of their most prized investigators like yesterday's garbage. Well, according to Kersh, Mulder was a waste. If only they had had a higher ally. Matheson was no longer a senator, and no one in the Consortium was interested in Mulder's career any more.

At least Detective Cooper seemed like a decent guy--hopefully his attitude would not change when he was alone simply with her. He phoned Scully an hour ago and let her know that through a great deal of combing, he'd managed to pick up Vanessa's dealer--a man by the name of Everett Campbell. Scully reached the reception desk, flashed her badge, and was directed towards interrogation room number three. Campbell did not look like a stereotypical drug dealer; he was dressed in a very finely cut suit and to any other Joe on the street, he could have appeared to be a stock broker.

At that precise moment, Cooper was grilling him like a piece of salmon. Campbell's face did not flinch once; he was as cool as a cucumber and seemed bored throughout the whole ordeal. Scully remained outside patiently as Cooper fumed. He must have seen her; he instantly shut his mouth and left the room. "You wanna talk to him?" he asked Scully, who shook her head.

"What'd you find out about him?"

"He works the 'burbs selling designers as well as street shit. You sure you don't wanna ask him something? I'm not sure of what else to quiz him on, and he probably wouldn't be much of a Trivia Pursuit whiz."

"How'd you find out he was Walsh's dealer?"

"Picked him up for running a red light and found his stash. Then I saw her name on a list of houses he goes to visit. His cover story was _real_ original--a vacuum door-to-door salesman."

"What else?"

"That's it. He won't say anything else."

"Has he got a history on file here?"

"Sure--he's only been in town for a year, and he's got three D.U.I.s, two assault charges, and one moving violation. Quite an exemplary driving record."

"How about other cities?"

"I didn't check--I figured these were enough sins to condemn him," Cooper shrugged.

"Where was he picked up each time?"

"Well, Agent Scully..." The detective's eyes skimmed over the case file he held in his hand and lit up five seconds later. "All in the same neighborhood, right outside of Dilvo."

"Dilvo?"

"Yeah, as suggestive as the name is minus one letter, the club is known for its sensual music and style. I hear that he DJ mixes topless from time to time. It gets so packed that you can barely move without rubbing against someone every two feet. But that's the way that the club was designed--it was put into very tight quarters. I guess someone liked the smell of human perspiration. What a perfect place to sell at night."

"Something tells me he wasn't just selling X and those other drugs. Look at him. He's no common thug--most of them would be telling you to "f" off or demanding to speak with a lawyer right away," Scully observed. "No dealer is stupid enough to only sell at one club. Tell me, when he was arrested the other times, did he have 'a stash' on him as well?"

"Well...um...according to this, only one other time. But it was such a minimal amount that we couldn't hold him for long. What're you thinking, Agent Scully?"

"Do we still have the impounded car?"

"Yeah, but it's already been searched."

"What other items were found?"

He clicked his tongue up against the roof of his mouth and brought out his notebook. "A dozen needles or so--either clean or used. And then one really weird lookin' one--it had a spring stiletto attached to it."

Scully's eyes narrowed as he finished his last sentence. "Did you say a stiletto?"

"So I did. But I don't see-"

"Get it. That's going to be our trump card."

"Just tell me what you're trying to prove first."

"I'm trying to link up the evidence to catch Vanessa Walsh's killer. In a sense, Mr. Campbell was aiding and abetting."

"Okay. I don't exactly see where you're going with this, but you sure seem to know what you're doing." Cooper placed the notebook back into his breast pocket and turned on his heel. "I'll be right back. You want a coffee?"

Scully was temporarily stunned; this hadn't happened to her in a long while. A male member of local law enforcement was showing her the respect she'd worked so hard to deserve, _and_ he was a gentleman. "Yes, please," she replied quietly. _He must still live with his mother_.

Five minutes later, Detective Jacob Cooper reappeared with a styrofoam cup of piping hot coffee and the stiletto needle inside of an evidence bag. "Thank you very much, Detective." Scully reached for the weapon and walked assertively to the door of the interrogation room. Her hand moved to the knob, and she cocked her head towards him. "Are you coming?"

"I'll let you work your magic from here, Agent Scully. Don't worry, I can still hear you."

She nodded and strolled into the enclosed room. Campbell had been twiddling his thumbs on top of the table, and they suddenly ceased as she haplessly tossed the bag onto the table. "I assume by your actions that you know what this is," Scully commented and stayed a safe distance from the drug dealer in the shadows.

He kept mute but removed his handcuffed hands from the tabletop.

"Now, what would you, a crummy cheap crook, be doing with a piece of technology whose genesis isn't from this planet?" After receiving no reply, she went on. "So they scared you into silence. How much is your life worth, Mr. Campbell?"

"What the hell kind of cop _are _you?" he snarled.

_Aha. Humpty Dumpty's taken the fall._

"One that can protect you if you start talking."

"These people _would_ find a needle in a haystack."

"And what do you think would happen to you if they discovered that you were incarcerated? I doubt that they'd send you any letters." _Damn, this coffee's too hot_.

"You've got nothin' on me."

"According to Detective Cooper, you were found with enough X to supply an entire upscale, middle-class neighborhood. That's at least fifteen years."

Campbell immediately shut his mouth and stared at the floor.

"Now, we can deal with this in two ways, Mr. Campbell." Scully began to circle him and the table slowly. "You have the right to speak with an attorney, and we'll provide you with one. But don't count on a good defense, since you were caught red-handed with illegal stimulants and a moving violation with a hefty rap sheet. Or you can simply 'spill the beans' to me here and now, and I'll make sure that you're off of their radar...permanently."

"Yeah, well, what's your partner got to say about it, lady? Since he was the one that busted me, I think it'd be his decision."

Scully eased some of the coffee down her throat and set the cup down across from him. It was still a little too hot to be gulped.

"And just what kind of connections do you got that they ain't, lady?"

She stopped pacing in her circle and sat down. "The federal kind." She withdrew her identification and held it up in the light.

"A g-bitch? Or lemme guess--you're a dyke. Real nice pickings they got up in D.C., I hear. You ever do mud wrestling?"

Scully rarely let down her professional mask, but every once and a while, someone could rub her the wrong way. And unfortunately, Everett Campbell had chosen to do so. She nonchalantly picked up the scalding java and threw it into his face. He reeled back and screamed painfully. As Campbell's hands reflexively went to nurse his wound, Scully grabbed one by the thumb and jerked it to the side. "You bitch!" he yelped.

"I'll fix the dislocation if you apologize," she told him calmly.

"I ain't sayin' shit! And I want my lawyer! Police brutality!"

"You should've thought of that before."

"Police brutality!"

"Try it a little more slowly. I think they almost heard you enough to care."

Campbell was about to shout again, but this time, he gave her a bitter glare. "You know, they say that the most important but least appreciated finger is the thumb. Have you ever tried to function without one for a day?"

"I'm sorry," he grunted and stretched out his forearms for her to reach.

"Tell me everything else now," Scully soothed and snapped the thumb back into place.

"I was working one night outside of Dilvo's last week, and this woman approached me. She was dressed kind of like you, so I thought at first that she was, you know, a high class hooker or something lookin' to fix for the night." "Did she have blonde hair?"

"Yeah, I think so, with blue eyes. But she pulled me aside and gave me that thing," he motioned to the evidence bag with his eyes. "Then she told me to prick some people's ears with it, and that if I did, there'd be some heavy dough in it for me. I told her to piss off at first, but when she showed me a fat wad of cash in that envelope, I gave in."

"How many people did you get?"

"I dunno. I just kept doing it until all the black shit inside of it was gone. The club was packed from wall to wall, so I can't say for sure."

"Then what happened?"

"It took me about ten minutes. I went back out for a smoke and a breather. She came back and told me to keep my mouth shut. And next week, she wants to do it again."

"What day did she approach you, Friday?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right. Now what do you got for me?"

"For now, Detective Cooper will probably show you your suite for the night. I need to speak with my superiors before we can remove you from Indianapolis' custody."

"What the hell, bitch! You promised me immunity!"

"You don't listen very well, Mr. Campbell. I said that I could provide you with the means to disappear; I didn't say that I would."

Campbell balled up his fists and slammed them onto the table. "You're gonna pay for double crossing me, you dyke! You violated my civil rights, too!"

Scully arose slowly and stared him down. "It's funny how little people seem to care for a drug dealer's rights. Do you know what scum is, Mr. Campbell?"

"Screw you."

"It's a filmy layer of extraneous or impure matter that forms or rises to the surface of a liquid or body of water. Not even animal plankton, which is basically the lowest creature of the food chain, will eat it. Consider yourself as part of that phylum until further notice." With that, she turned and left the room. Cooper was still there drinking his coffee and leaned up against the window. As Scully eyed his beverage, he gulped down the rest of it quickly.

"I'd offer to get you another one, but I'm kind of wondering if it'll end up burning me as badly as it did him," he gestured to Campbell with his head.

Scully managed to force a smile at Cooper; she still wasn't sure about his character yet.

"So who's the blondie?" he asked and broke her train of thought.

"Hmm?"

"Who's the blonde woman you were talking about in there?"

Two police officers opened the door and led the silent drug dealer away. "A felon that needs to be brought to justice."

"Can I have a name? I'll put out an APB for her if you'd like."

"She's too high up on the ladder to be caught and tried for her crimes."

"Okay, well, what's her relationship to us, then? Can we stop her?"

"I hope so, but I'm not sure."

Cooper ran a hand over his face slowly, and she picked up annoyance from his body language but said nothing. Instead, Scully turned and pulled out her cell phone. "What're you doing?" he demanded.

"If I'm going to remain in Indianapolis for a while, I'd better ask to stay. I wasn't originally here on a case; Dr. Verne and I just stumbled upon the bodies yesterday."

"Wait a minute," he barked as her fingers traveled over the buttons. She gave him a sharp glare. "What kind of charges do you want to press against Campbell?" his tone weakened.

"For now, I think all you've got to go on are those drugs and running a red light. That stiletto technically is a murder weapon, but I don't think even if we manage to convince a judge or grand jury to admit it into evidence that we could get him for anything more."

After years of being the green agent, the thought suddenly occurred to her that she had taken up Mulder's old role, and Cooper was in her shoes from years ago. The fact that she was a woman in the senior position made her feel slightly uncomfortable, and this man wasn't giving her any trouble. He seemed to be very supportive, but yet he wasn't questioning her actions at all. He didn't even flinch when she had earlier mentioned the stiletto's source to be from another planet. Cooper had shown up to the eastern morgue not long after Jarod had reported it to the police--and since he was alone, she became even more suspicious. Was he involved in the Consortium's affairs? It was too soon to tell.

"All right, then I'll process him through the system while you're doing that. And your partner was right," Cooper informed her.

"About what?"

"The man's body was stolen from the west side morgue, too. Got any suspicions?"

"Actually, yes, but more like a...a premonition," Scully responded thoughtfully.

"Tell me."

"Well, something never sat right with me when Dr. Verne and I were about to start that autopsy. You know how important it is to refrigerate a body, right?"

"You're the doc, so you'd know more than me," he shrugged.

"And one would think that a deputy coroner would understand how important it is to preserve the body for latent evidence."

"Maybe the DC's a rookie."

"No...not even a greenhorn medical examiner would do that. Perhaps an assistant would forget, but that's not the case here. O'Shaungnessy's body was left out purposely in the open to decay all night. And perhaps there was another reason, too, but I'm just not sure right now."

"You think the deputy medical examiner was involved in the theft of the bodies?"

"Like I said, it's more of a conjecture at this point." "Well, it's a pretty damned good one. I'll call forensics and head out with them to the western morgue to do a more extensive look at the crime scene." The detective crushed the styrofoam cup in his fist and dumped it into a trash bin. He recovered his suit coat from his nearby desk and shrugged himself into it.

"Detective Cooper?"

"Yeah?" Cooper was distracted with his holster for the moment; it was caught on his jacket's lining.

"Could I have your department's cooperation even though I have no jurisdiction yet?"

"Of course. I said I'd help you," he grunted and jerked the holster away finally.

"I'd like to request some data on the victims, if you please, and...some information about Chief Coroner Verne."

"What do you want?"

"Anything available...for my partner's speculation, please."

"Sure, just flash your badge at reception, tell her what you need, and mention my name in the same sentence. Oh, and uh, can I ask you a question?"

"All right."

"I've never heard of an FBI agent being partnered with a psychologist before. Just how often does the Bureau do that?" Cooper motioned with his head that he was leaving, and she accompanied him on his way out.

"He was an FBI agent once."

"Hmm...I see. So he really doesn't have anything to do with them anymore?"

Scully's refusal to reply was enough of an answer.

"Right. Sgt. Riker, this is Special Agent Scully. She's working with me on a murder case; give her anything she needs, please," he ordered the woman at the desk. "I'll keep you in the loop with whatever we find."

"Thank you, Detective," Scully responded graciously and turned to Riker.

"What can I help you with, ma'am?" Riker inquired and leaned her weight onto the bureau before her.

Scully withdrew a notepad, tore off a sheet, and wrote furiously onto it for a few seconds.

"Whatever information you have available on these three subjects."

"Are you in a rush?"

"I'll be needing it soon," she said and checked her wristwatch. Mulder would be expecting her in half an hour. "I have fifteen minutes. Oh, and one question."

"Yes?"

"Where's Detective Cooper from? South Africa?"

"New Zealand, actually. He's a Kiwi," Riker responded and left.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

501 West Washington St., Indianapolis, Indiana

April 23rd, 2001, 7:27 p.m.

The fifty by fifty warehouse was empty except for the half dozen people standing in it. High heels traveled quickly on a pavement to meet the men and women that quietly spoke amongst themselves. The woman's blonde hair whipped around wildly as she shut the door behind herself from the harsh northern wind. As soon as she approached them, a grave silence overcame everyone. "What do you think, Marita?" a well-educated English accent inquired of her.

"This will do," she stated and swept her eyes around the space. "But I didn't come here only for your approval, ladies and gentlemen. I came because...the FBI agents are here."

"Dear God, not now," the Well-Manicured Man lamented and swore underneath his breath.

"Yes, they are here. Our contact inside the police department called me and told me about ten minutes ago."

"Who's here?" Strughold asked.

"Scully. Mulder's here, too, but, he won't be much of a problem," Marita replied calmly.

"Hmm, well...we were able to use her before. Perhaps incorporating her services again would be wise," Well-Manicured Man surmised.

"Yes, but, that was before Mr. Mulder was returned. She is not so weak now; she would resist us. Besides, they cannot learn anything new--we removed the bodies from the morgues," Strughold argued.

Covarrubias cleared her throat and shook her head. "I'm afraid that's not true. The informant also told me that the police caught Campbell."

"I thought that that was a rash decision, anyhow," Well-Manicured Man shoved his hands into his pockets. "Street criminals can be useful to us at times, but you should have checked him out before using him, Marita."

She bit her lip and grimaced. "Yes, well, I had heard that the Chief Medical Examiner and his deputies of this town were quite sloppy. I made sure of that information _before_ we tracked the virus to Indianapolis."

"What else did your insider have to say about Campbell?" Strughold cut in.

"He's in the local police's custody right now under the charge of drug possession."

"Well, we haven't really invested any time or money into this place yet," Strughold observed. The rest of the group agreed with nods. "Perhaps we should evacuate to a more provincial area for further testing while there's plenty of time."

"No, I don't think that will be necessary," Marita interjected. "Let's remove Campbell and continue on. There are still plenty of other test subjects to be used."

"I don't like this testing very much, Marita. Nothing seems to be working against this new strain," Well-Manicured Man said.

"Except the children," Strughold added.

"Yes, they are quite effective, I agree."

"There's got to be another way. Killing the infected was only a temporary solution, might I remind you? Or at least that's what you said, Dr. Strughold," Maria parried.

"What of Mulder and Scully? They're going to keep searching for answers," he ignored her question.

"We still have the Attorney General in our pocket. He will prevent them from further action, if necessary," Marita assured the group. "I have but to make one phone call."

"How did Scully get here in the first place?" Well-Manicured Man questioned her.

"I doubt that she came to Indianapolis purposely to investigate the project. As far as I can tell through our phone taps at the Coroners' offices, she was there by coincidence."

"Then make your phone call--to the local police and rid us of Campbell. Perhaps she'll become discouraged enough to leave," Strughold commanded. "And you're right, Marita, the renewal of the Litchfield Project was supposed to be only temporary."

"This facility is crude, but with some time and renovations, it could work very well for us," Well-Manicured Man stated. "I agree with Marita. Let's continue our interest in Indianapolis."

"No. It is not your decision to make. The committee must agree," Strughold objected.

"But it will take 2 days for everyone to arrive! Time is not on our side here," Marita exclaimed.

"That is the way it was done before, and we will continue on in the same manner. Quick, violent, and foolish decisions were made under Spender's regime because the damned fool couldn't wait. We lost all of those men and their families to the Rebels because of him," Strughold spat.

"No, Spender's downfall was his attachment to Bill Mulder's son. He became sloppy because of his colored view towards Fox Mulder," Well-Manicured Man disagreed.

"Well, no one shares any preferences for any FBI agents now. They do not harbor us any longer," Marita said.

"Quite so. New York City, the Bronx, 2 days from now," Strughold announced. "I will gather the others. Marita, stay behind for a day and clean this Campbell matter up."

"So it shall be written, so it shall be done," she responded and left.

"Are you confident in this woman?" Strughold asked the Well-Manicured Man.

"I'm not so certain I follow you."

"Will she come through for us?"

"Spender gave her a very small role to play years ago, and she prospered for us then. I believe he underestimated her value. So, yes, I believe she's capable of her duties."

"Good. The last thing we need is an Achilles' heel right now," Strughold grunted.

Comfort Inn, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 23rd, 2001, 7:56 p.m.

A knock to Mulder's door did not deter him from his writing; it only paused it. "Come in, Scully, it's open."

"I know you were expecting me, Mulder, but couldn't you have taken a little more precaution?" she asked as she opened the door and brought in a familiar cardboard box.

Mulder's eyes lit up, and he sat up from his previously reclined position on the bed. "What do you mean? Ahh, Scully, it's been too long since we've shared a pizza over a case."

"Well, it was a thank you for coming. God, I'm getting paranoid--I'm turning into _you_," she mused. He chuckled and arose to help her take off her coat.

"You're more than welcome. Well, since you're bringing in the pizza, I now have nothing to fear."

Scully gave him a questioning eyebrow.

"You would have already tested the pizza and come to a conclusion that there are no droplets of chloral hydrate in there," Mulder teased.

"Which isn't to say I couldn't have put them in before coming to your room."

"Planning on having your way with me, eh? Scully, you don't need drugs for that. A man in love is like a clipped coupon, and it's your time to cash in." She whirled around and sized him up. He looked like a tiger ready to pounce on his prey, and that gleam in his eyes--she didn't know whether it irritated or excited her. Since she had been behaving herself all day in front of everyone and dying to give into his innuendos, she chose the latter. But it didn't hurt to make him try a little harder.

"Don't you want to try some before it gets cold?"

She pointed to the box as he inched closer and shook his head. Scully retreated back a few steps.

"Mulder, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I..."

He was so close to her now that she was practically pinned up against the wall.

"When you did what, Scully?" _Thump._

_Well, there's the wall. Now what?_ she thought.

"Now using your height like that isn't fair," she whimpered as one hand came to rest against the wall above her. He leaned down and brushed her lips with his own lightly.

"No, but neither is inviting me to come on a trip with you out of town without our son, and off of the FBI clock," Mulder's lips hovered just slightly above hers.

"Mulder, I-"

"Scully, sometimes you think too much," he chortled and teased her lips again.

"Oh, Hell. I wasn't planning on getting this suit wrinkled."

"The quicker you get out of it, the fewer there will be."

"I think that's the most logical statement I've heard all day," she smiled genuinely and flicked his nose playfully. "Come on, Mulder, work now. Play later."

"What about the phrase carpe diem?"

"See, this is the reason why I was so afraid to get involved with you when you were at the FBI," she frowned. "We'd never get anything done."

"On the contrary, talking burns more calories. And I think hearing you spout off a few physical theories would tempt me to try and attempt to break some of the rules of gravity in the act."

"Really?"

"It's been scientifically proved--I think they did a study at Harvard last year..."

"I meant the physics part."

"Hmm...well...there's only one way to prove that hypothesis..."

Finally, she could stand it no longer--Mulder could be too talkative for being a man sometimes. Scully grabbed him by the back of his head and crushed her lips to his. He was eager to taste her, but he let her set the pace. She shocked the hell out of him by picking up the tempo...fast.

Mulder broke free of her simply to breathe but could not help himself. He wanted more, and God help him, this would be the night. He silenced her questioning expression with a finger to her lips and moved much more slowly towards her chin. If this was going to happen tonight, he wanted to make it last as long as possible. He had had _years_ to plan out his actions, and to do it right, it had to be slow.

_God, why did he slow down?_

She was expecting a harsh nipping to begin, like Jack's preferred method, but instead, she felt his warm breath and then the glide of his lips across her jawline. Then he started to suck--Mary Mother of God, he was so gentle. Oh, it was almost unbearable; he was nearly taking too much time. What the hell happened to the guy that watched nothing but twelve minute encounters? At his current rate, he'd probably get down south in ten minutes. Despite the long await she had, she was very thrilled and let out a sigh of pleasure.

"Mmm...you know I love you, Scully," he murmured into her neck.

"Uh...I can't do this," her pulse quickened. Scully found herself pushing Mulder's face up and away from her neck.

"Why? What's the matter?"

She found herself frantically searching for the right response. "Be...because we've got work to do." Scully ducked under his arm and motioned to the table.

"Are you sure? There's nothing else? Was I being too forward?"

"The pizza's going to get cold."

"So let it, this is more important." He turned to face her and crossed his arms. "Was it because I dropped the "l" word?"

She refused to make eye contact with Mulder.

"You know, you brushed me off the last time I said it, probably because you chalked it up to the fact that I was drugged. Well, you sure as hell know that I'm not under the influence now. And by the way, I _did_ mean it then."

"I got us some background checks on Walsh, O'Shaugnessy, and Dr. Verne from Indianapolis PD."

"Why are you changing the subject? Aren't you concerned about us?"

"I'm not so sure of what to think of us."

"Isn't it time to stop running around the issue and smash into it? I avoided the thought for almost six years--and almost three years later, you're still not sure?"

"I...I..." Scully's mouth went completely dry, and Mulder walked over to the nightstand. He opened the drawer, removed a jewelry box, and placed it onto the table next to the pizza. "What is this?"

"Open it and see, Agent Scully," he smirked.

She reached over, picked the box up, and opened the cover. The sight of the sapphire alone made her gasp, and she nearly tripped over the table. "Oh my god, Mulder. It's exquisite."

"Will it fit?"

"Where did you-" Scully removed the silver ring and gazed at it longingly.

"Man, I can't tell you what that sapphire does to me with your eyes. Put it on."

"It looks like an antique. You didn't buy this with your last FBI check, did you?"

"I spent hours looking for just the right one." Her mouth dropped open. "But no, I didn't. The last FBI check went to cover my rent."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Will you just...put the damn thing on already!"

"Mulder, I'd like to know where this ring came from first. It must have a lot of sentimental value to you if you took hours to buy it."

"I didn't buy it."

The ring slid perfectly into place onto her finger.

"It belonged to my mother," Mulder finished.

The ring came right off, went into the box, and Scully snapped it shut. "I'm sorry, Mulder. Thank you for thinking of me. It is a gorgeous piece of jewelry, but I can't accept it."

"Why the hell not?" He became angry.

"I'm a Catholic, Mulder, and we don't condone the act of suicide," she returned gently.

"What? I thought you'd like this."

"I do, but, I can't take something from someone who's violated my beliefs."

"What about your God? Doesn't He forgive and forget?"

"Of course, but it'd be like accepting a piece of treasure that was stolen."

"Scully, this wasn't stolen," his voice rose, "it came from my mother's collection of jewelry. And being her only heir left, I think I have the right to gift some of my inheritance away if I want to."

"Please understand me, Mulder, I'm not rejecting you."

"Do you think she was wearing the ring when she killed herself? Is that why you won't accept it?"

"I'm sorry, Mulder. It's just not right. I wish I could accept it; I really do because it's so beautiful. But my heart is telling me no."

"Why won't you accept my love, Scully? It's as unconditional as I can humanly make it."

"I don't know if I can bear other children, Mulder. William's birth is still a mystery."

"Scully, that doesn't matter to me. And even if you hadn't had Will, I still would have loved you the same."

"I just don't know right now. This is all very odd to me."

"How so?"

"You're the psychologist--you tell me," she growled.

"Okay, well, I bet Jack only used you as an emotional drain. Daniel used you to get away from his responsibility as a father and husband. You're feeling vulnerable right now. You're not sure where your career in the Bureau is going, and for some odd reason, you're still trying to convince yourself that you're not in love with me because it shows a weakness. Scully, you've known that for years I've never thought of you as less of a partner because you're a woman. I've thought of you as an equal FBI agent and a damn good shot. But sometimes, Scully, it's nice to feel like a man and a woman, wouldn't you agree?"

"I guess so. I'm scared, Mulder."

"Scared of what? I don't expect anything from you, Scully--you trust me and I trust you implicitly."

"I've been hurt so many other times by the men I thought I'd loved--it's...it's become more difficult for me to give my heart away throughout the years. And I'm sorry that I hadn't met you earlier in life when it was easier."

"I'm not--I didn't deserve you when I was younger."

"What?"

"No, I...I didn't. I was so driven to find the truth about my sister that I forgot about what kind of risk I was putting your life in. It was because of me that they abducted you and took away your ova. God knows what else they would have thought to try."

"Well, I've stayed with you despite that." She pulled out a chair at the table, sat, and lifted up the pizza box's flap. "Now, I wonder if the cheese has congealed yet."

Mulder understood that the subject was now closed and joined her with a sigh of resignation. "Just promise me, in the next few days, we'll discuss our future together."

"All right, I promise."

"So, what goodies did you dig up for me?" He removed a slice and proceeded to wolf it down faster than a jackrabbit on a hot date.

"I think I mentioned them before."

"It was kind of a heated moment, Scully. Sorry, I forgot."

"I managed to find a few skeletons in O'Shaugnessy's closet, but not very many. He was picked up last year for domestic abuse, and his BAC levels were quite interesting," she commented as she read from a file folder.

"Can I see that, please?"

"Yes, just please wipe off those greasy fingers first. These files belong to the Indianapolis PD. I seem to remember another time when I was handing one back to a local PD with some confectioner's sugar and jelly filling on it."

"They're cops. What harm is a little donut stain? They'd probably find it inspirational."

"Mulder," she ordered in her sergeant major tone. He shrugged and did as he was told. Scully then handed him the file.

"Was he found anywhere near Vanessa Walsh's body?"

"Oh, yeah, that's right, I forgot to tell you. Detective Cooper's call wasn't just about the missing corpse but also an arrest. He came into contact with one Everett Campbell, who happens to also have a long history in a short amount of time--one year, to be specific."

"Drug dealer?"

"How'd you know?"

"I've always been a good guesser, Scully. You women always try to attribute your feminine intuition to it, but I think it's my 'Spooky sense'."

"Seriously, Mulder..."

"Seriously, Scully," he replied with furrowed eyebrows. Then his irresistible grin followed them shortly.

"I have a gun, and I'll use it."

"Oh, yeah? You should see my pistol whip." She ignored that one. "Okay, okay, down to business. I've got a riddle for you."

"Mulder, I'm not in the mood."

"No, no, just think. I'm a high ranking official in the government, and I need something done that involves a little dirty business. Whom would I choose to take the fall in case I need to pull out of town fast?"

"I see your point--the police just want to get someone. And sometimes, they settle for the lowest position on the totem pole," she nodded.

"Exactly. Scully, you haven't touched your pizza. Not hungry?"

"I am, but..." She was scanning the other files with her eyes, but she seemed downtrodden. There was something else on her mind. "Mulder, I need to be honest with you."

"I know, I know. You think I should be serving you this pizza with nothing on while you're in the bathtub sudsing yourself away." He stopped himself from going on when he saw her despondency continue. "Okay, maybe that was _my_ being honest with you...a little too honest, perhaps."

"There's something I must tell you, and frankly, I don't know if I can."

"Why?"

"You've just told me how much you love me. In about thirty seconds, you're going to hate me."

"Nonsense. What on earth is it?"

"Last year in September, I told you about the reappearance of the Consortium and the murders in Arizona. What I neglected to tell you is that I willingly helped them continue on with the Litchfield Projects."

"What?" He was incredulous, and his pitch raised about an octave.

"It's true. I delivered the last adult Eve of the project, who was an obstetrician, to Georgetown UH. I did it because they told me that it would bring you back."

"I don't believe it."

"I didn't think you would, at first. It's my fault that these people are dead."

"Scully, they would have perished from the virus anyhow."

"But don't you see--if I hadn't helped them, we wouldn't be sitting here and now in some hotel next to a seedy neighborhood trying to chase our tails again!"

"You don't know that. It does upset me that you didn't say something earlier when we were going to the morgue, but it impresses me even more that you have the guts to tell me now."

"But I betrayed the work that became your life at the FBI. I lied to them all: Skinner, Doggett, and the Gunmen. How can you even bear to be in the same room with me?"

"In case you forgot, I left that all behind four months ago. The truth is important; but I've learned throughout the years that the truth that makes men free is for the most part the truth which men prefer not to hear."

"Meaning what?"

"Ignorance is bliss, Scully. I'm not saying that I'm happy with your choice, but you made the best one that you could in that situation. I'd rather be here with you than be dead."

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

"Let's not dwell on the past any longer, Scully. So, are you here officially yet?"

"I left a message on Kersh's voicemail and briefly spoke with Doggett. He's going to ask Kersh tonight--I guess he's meeting him for a drink later."

"Scully, I see that you're checking out Dr. Verne as well. Might I ask why?"

"I'd just like to eliminate him from the police's suspect list. Why, did you already do that before you got here?"

He swallowed a lump in his throat and bit his top lip nervously. "I...uh...well, what happened to being a 'respected member of the medical community' and all that?" Mulder's fingers made quotation marks.

"That was before the bodies were stolen from the morgue. I just want to know who this guy is--isn't it my job to know?"

"It is, FBI woman."

"Uh-huh, so what's your excuse?" Up those eyebrows went again.

"I'm a criminal behaviorist...I have to do some research, too."

"Hmm...I think I heard some jealousy in that voice--as well as some guilt."

"Possibly." Mulder reached across the table and exchanged the O'Shaugnessy file for Jarod's. "Hmm...everything looks the same, here. It looks _exactly_ the same."

"As what?"

"Either the Gunmen tapped into the Indianapolis PD's files or--..." he chuffed and studied the bottom of the page. "That's funny."

"Funny odd or funny ha-ha?"

"Both. I had an inkling about this before I left D.C., and now I think I'm right. But, it doesn't matter; he's just a small fry. He's an exceptionally intelligent fry, though," Mulder laughed and closed it. "I don't think he did it, Scully."

"How can you say that? What's in that file that makes you say that?"

"Look under education. He did his pre-med at Brown University and then continued on at Dartmouth. Then he went on to do his residency in Blue Cove, Delaware."

"Yeah, he said, he was stuck in Delaware for about ten years paying off his college bills."

"Wouldn't you think a smart guy like him would've gotten a scholarship or two throughout the years?"

"Of course, but it took me until '95 to pay mine. And yes, I had scholarships, Mulder."

"But only state schools offer those kind of scholarships. And you usually have to stay within that state working at one of their hospitals. Am I right?"

"Yes. I find it difficult to understand where you're going with this, Mulder. Are you suggesting that he was in prison?"

"Imprisoned, actually, against his will--for a helluva lot more than 10 years."

"What? No hospital in the country would ever-"

"He's not a real coroner, Scully."

"Of course he is," she scoffed and finally began to eat. After completing the slice of pizza in total silence, she caved. "All right, what do you mean?"

"While you were visiting Detective Cooper, I visited the web with our friend Jarod's photo. He's had six different jobs in the last four months."

"So? He mentioned that he's a gypsy. Maybe that hospital gave him a lot of bad memories, and he doesn't like to stay too long in a place so he can't develop any hurtful ties."

"Those weren't six other ME jobs, Scully. I meant six different professions."

"That's impossible. No one can do that."

"No one can with an IQ like you or me, Scully. This guy makes Einstein and Stephen Hawking look like Laurel and Hardy." He grabbed another slice. "I've got a story to tell you, but you're going to have to get comfortable."

"That long, huh? Should I have brought my slippers and pajamas?"

"No, but it couldn't have hurt you to have brought some beer." She rewarded him with a devilish grin and arose from her chair. "Where are you going?"

"To the car for a moment. I almost forgot."

As Scully returned to the room, she closed the door shut aptly with her foot. One hand carried a six pack of Michelob, and the other grasped her overnight bag.

"Scully!" he cooed in delight. Mulder dropped his pizza and rushed towards her for the alcohol. "Mmm...you have good taste in brew, FBI woman. Hey, I thought you hadn't checked out of your hotel."

"I hadn't earlier in the day. Besides, the room next to you will be just fine." She dangled the key in front of him and unlocked the adjoining door. "Shall I slip into something more comfortable?"

"Umm...you do that." Mulder tried to revert his thoughts back to the time of his childhood; _girls are no fun. Girls are picky. Girls have cooties. Girls are pretty. Girls smell nice. Scully's going to be back in ten minutes dressed in less clothing. Damn, it isn't working!_ Instead, his mind pictured nothing but raging hormonal contemplations from his teenage years.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Jones' Bar & Grill, Washington, D.C.

April 23rd, 2001, 10:01 p.m.

"I'm glad you could meet me here, sir," Doggett thanked his superior as Kersh joined him at his table.

"This had better be worth my while, John."

"It will be, sir." The FBI agent slid a khaki envelope over to Kersh's waiting hands.

"Might I ask why you couldn't give this to me tomorrow morning officially or at least send me an email?" Kersh inquired.

"With all due respect, sir, I don't trust too many people at the Bureau. And the guy who gave me these reports wants it done this way, or else he'll stop sending them. I figured I owed it to him since he's trusted me with this much information so far."

"And Mulder had nothing to do with this, you say?"

Doggett hesitated before blatantly lying to Kersh. A waitress in her early forties brought a club soda to the table, and she gave the black man a half-grin. "Somethin' I can get for ya, honey?"

"Plain water, please," Kersh responded, and her smirk disappeared as she exited. "Answer the question, John."

"Should it matter?"

"Yes, it should, Agent Doggett. Fox Mulder was fired from the Bureau because of his treachery and frequent insubordination. He embarrassed the FBI more times than I care to remember, and I don't want to see that happening anymore."

"Are you going to dismiss the case based solely on that information?"

"Only if I think you're lying to me."

Doggett wrestled with himself. On the one hand, he didn't know how well he could trust Kersh. On the other hand, just how well did Kersh trust him? If he lied, could he pull it off? If he told the truth, well...Kersh just might throw away the whole ordeal because of Mulder.

Their server came back with Kersh's water and left without a word.

"Yes, sir. Fox Mulder did bring it to my attention," Doggett finally said. He prepared himself for Kersh's sledgehammer to fall. "But he will have nothing to do with our investigation."

"What's on this disc?"

"A lot of videos of what this Centre place is capable of--documents, too." A few seconds later, Doggett went on. "I received a message from Agent Scully this evening on my voice mail asking me to speak with you regarding another case. As you know, she's out of town on a convention for pathologists. Well, she came across something rather unexpectedly."

The ex-cop proceeded to tell Kersh most of what Scully had told him, and after he concluded his narration, he took a huge swig of his club soda. "So, she's asking for your permission to stay in Indianapolis and investigate these deaths."

"What do you think, John?" Kersh inquired.

"I think I'm glad that it wasn't me. I probably would have called for her help--or Agent Reyes."

"Let me re-phrase that. Is Agent Scully asking for a legitimate 302?"

"In my opinion, yes, sir," Doggett answered immediately. "The case is a definite X-File."

"Is she working in conjunction with the local police out there in...Indianapolis, you say?"

"Yes, sir, she is...on both counts."

"You know who Tony Capricci is?"

"No, sir, I don't."

"He's an SAC of the OCS Division. And he'll be working with you and Agent Reyes starting tomorrow morning." Kersh drank half of his water, scooted his chair backward, and got up.

"Don't you want this?" Doggett picked up the envelope, and Kersh shook his head.

"I don't need to see it to know that you're being honest with me. You can give it to SAC Capricci in the morning."

"And sir? What about Agent Scully?"

"As long as she sends me daily field notes via either email or fax, she can continue. I have been known to make mistakes about judging people from time to time. Maybe she's not as much of a lost cause as Mulder was."

"What if some of her findings are inconclusive?"

"Frankly, John, that wouldn't surprise me a bit. And _I_ will be the one deciding what's conclusive and inconclusive around here." Kersh pointed at himself. "Why isn't Agent Reyes here?"

"She's trying to quit smoking, sir, and she felt the temptation would be too great here."

"By the way, SAC Capricci will be meeting you in your office tomorrow morning--at 8 o'clock sharp."

"Thank you, sir."

The X-Files Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

April 24th, 2001, 8:00 a.m.

"So Agent Scully's not coming back yet, huh?" Reyes asked Doggett as they stepped off of the elevator.

"Yeah, she's still in Indiana. Are you still getting those headaches?"

"I had a little episode again yesterday after you dropped me off back home. In fact, I almost blacked out from the pain."

"Monica, you shouldn't be here. Go to your doctor."

"I made an appointment to see him this afternoon. I'll be fine, John. I took some Excedrin this morning, and I've got some more on me just in case."

"Well, if you feel the slightest bit out of sorts, feel free to just walk out and leave if you must. I'm sure SAC Capricci will understand."

"Understand what?" a voice questioned them from behind. Reyes and Doggett spun around to face an average build man with brown eyes and dark hair. He slung his suit coat over one shoulder and held out his hand. "I'm Tony. You must be Agent Reyes and Agent Doggett.""How do you do, sir?" Doggett filled Capricci's hand with his and shook it warmly."Aw...let's get _that_ outta the way. Please _don't_ call me sir. I know I'm an SAC and all, but it's just a title. I'd really prefer Tony."

"Sounds just fine to me," Reyes greeted him with a smile and also shook his hand.

"So this is what the basement looks like," Capricci commented as he watched Doggett wrestle with keys in the door. "That lock looks like it needs to be oiled. Did you put in a request for it?"

"Yeah, last week. But nobody seems to be in a rush to fix it," Doggett replied and finally jangled it open. "Our garbage hasn't been taken out in a month, either. The three of us have been out of this office so much doing other assignments, so none of us have had time to make a complaint yet."

"Remind me when we're finished here, and I'll get right on their asses."

"I'd appreciate that, thanks."

"What do you mean, doing other assignments?" Capricci pressed him as they filed into the office and gathered around Doggett's desk.

"Kersh likes to lend us out to other divisions occasionally."

"Occasionally? John, we haven't physically _been_ inside this office for a week!" Reyes exclaimed. "Deputy Director Kersh doesn't really see a need to investigate the paranormal, and so he sends all three of us out to where he thinks we'll serve best."

"I'm aware of that. Kersh is a prick--I needed some extra agents to help me once in a kidnapping case. I actually asked him for Mulder when they were under him three years ago, but he wouldn't give him to me. That really pissed me off, too, 'cause I was looking so forward to meeting him."

"Agent Mulder, you mean?" Doggett wondered.

"Yeah. He was my idol, back when I was at the Academy. He's a brilliant guy, that Spooky Mulder. He was so under-appreciated here, and I was very disappointed when I heard that they fired him."

"What's your story, Tony?" Reyes inquired and arose to the coffeemaker.

"I wanted to join the X-Files Division--it was a goal for me when I was at Quantico. So I studied all the harder. Then I got put in the Atlanta regional office, spent three years there, and requested to work in the X-Files Division upon my return. But unfortunately, the powers that be closed the division, and I was denied entry. So instead, I got moved to OCS. It took me six years to be able to set one foot into this office. And now that I finally do, neither of the original agents are here."

"Oh, I beg to differ." Reyes signaled towards the desk in front of the door that used to be Mulder's. The nameplate above it read 'Special Agent Dana Scully'. "She's out of town right now, actually."

"Too bad. I kind of would've liked to see her in flesh and blood," Capricci grinned at Doggett and winked.

"What do you mean by that?" Doggett pried.

"Oh come, on, Agent Doggett," Tony stated and rolled his eyes. "Any man that didn't turn his head when she walked by was either blind or gay. No offense intended, Monica."

"None taken," she laughed and started the coffeemaker.

"So, did Deputy Director Kersh fill you in on anything?"

"He said that the case had a typical Mulder flavoring. It made me kind of wish for a seven o'clock meeting. But before we start, I'd like to do something, if I may," Capricci crossed one leg to the other.

"You're the senior agent," Doggett remarked and shrugged.

"I worked with the Violent Crimes Task Force in Atlanta, and some of those cases were so dark and gruesome, we almost dreaded the thought of coming to work on Monday to start a new one. So, each team member told a joke. They got so popular in the Atlanta office that they were tagged the name "Monday gags"."

"You told jokes before starting to work on a violent crime?"

"Well, just one. It was the rule--but sometimes it helps cut the stress and sometimes guilt over the ones we couldn't bring to justice or save," Tony told them. "Would it be okay with you?"

"It _is_ a Monday," Reyes announced. "Why not?"

"It's a quickie today, because I'd like to begin to hear about this case ASAP. All right, I'd kind of been saving it for Mulder when I met him, but...I think you'll get it just the same. How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?"

"How many?" Doggett questioned him.

"How many do _you_ think it will take?"

Reyes chuckled immediately, and even Doggett cracked a smile.

"Yeah, he'd like that joke. Maybe you'll meet him someday," he suggested.

"I hope so. There are a slim few of us that think of him as the legendary Spooky in a good sense. Hey, is that coffee ready yet, Monica?"

"Yes, I believe it is." She pulled out three mugs, poured the coffee, and served the men as well as herself.

"Thank you very much. I didn't offend you by not getting up, did I?"

"No, not at all. Why do you ask?"

"It's a rare occasion nowadays to be brought coffee by a woman in the FBI. Everyone has to be so PC about male chauvinism and equal rights, so most of the time, I just do it myself."

"The thought never entered my mind, actually. I've just gotten into the habit of making the coffee since John's is so terrible."

"Is it really?" Tony inquired.

"Yeah--as long as I keep being a good shot and my mouth shut, I get the best damn coffee made in the FBI by its two smartest agents in heels."

"All right, John, hit me with everything you've got. I'm all yours."

"Well first, we start with a little movie." Doggett loaded the disc into his computer's tray, closed it, and opened up a file. He turned the monitor around to face Capricci and Reyes then joined them in front of his desk.

"Cree craw toads croak, geese walk barefoot," a five year old boy sang and paced around a skyscraper made completely of Legos. "Cree craw toads croak, geese walk barefoot."

Behind him was an image of the Empire State Building. "I've finished my building. I'm finished," he sang in a louder voice.

A man in his late twenties approached the camera and looked directly into it. "This one's only been with us for thirty-six hours, and he's already demonstrating more talent than any of our others."

The youth walked up to the glass and knocked on it. "Hey, I'm finished," he called.

Seconds later, the man entered the room.

"Hi, Jarod, my name is Sydney. I'll be taking care of you for a while," he stated.

"Why? Where are my mom and dad?" Jarod asked innocently.

The file ended and returned back to the window Doggett previously had open.

"How old is that footage? I heard a reel to reel being used to project that Empire State Building film," Tony observed.

"It's from 1963," Doggett answered. "That was the beginning of their experiment."

"Whose?"

"We're going to be investigating a place called the Centre. It's located in a small marine port called Blue Cove in Delaware," Reyes informed him. "Our informant is the boy you saw on the screen--we know him only as Jarod."

"And just what did they do?"

"It'd take me until next Christmas to recite every little piece of data we've gotten so far from this guy. But to sum it all up, they kidnapped a boy for his brilliant mind and have used his thoughts to hurt many people. Our interest in this case is to protect the United States as well as bring justice to those that stole this man's life. Apparently, they do deals with governments that are openly hostile towards America."

"And we've got the proof, huh?"

"It's all purely circumstantial and subjective at this point, but, that's what I'd like to get as soon as humanly possible," Doggett corrected him.

"This might be a stupid question and all, but I have to ask it."

"Go ahead."

"Did this boy...Jarod know that he was hurting people?"

"No--he claims that he didn't know until he heard a part of a deal being discussed. Jarod says that it was only out of pure curiosity that he happened to stumble upon their plans--that was when he was an adult," Reyes said.

"Did he send you a paper trail of any of these deals?"

"No, but he gave us an idea of where to look. Do you know anyone in the Cyber Division?" Dogettt asked Capricci.

"Yeah, I do," Tony grumbled. "We'll be looking for EFTs, right? Probably with international banks?"

"All we've got is an account number. I'm not sure if it belongs to the Centre or someone within the organization. Jarod just sent it to our source when we requested some more information."

"Okay. Let me have it...I'll take it down to CD myself."

"Would you mind if we tagged along?"

"Uh...sure. She's just...let me put it this way. She's better with machines than she is with people--just to give you a fair warning. And, well...I don't even know if she'll do it for me," Tony stated gloomily. "This is great coffee, Monica. Maybe a full mug of this stuff will perk Sabrina up," he enthused and arose to refill his mug.

"Well, if you're ready, let's go visit the geeks in the CD," Capricci offered.

Cyber Division, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

April 24th, 2001, 9:07 a.m.

A few heads popped up from their cubicles as Doggett, Reyes, and Capricci strolled into the office space. The Cyber Division was known as the quiet floor in the Hoover Building; all that could typically be heard were keyboard strokes and humming noises coming from America's most powerful computers. The occasional phone conversation occurred; but it was nothing compared to the hustle and bustle of the bullpen floor.

As the trio approached the third row of cubicles, Doggett could have sworn that he heard someone whistling the tune of "Darth Vader's theme". His head spun around to localize the whistler; the action ceased immediately afterward. Unfortunately, he had kept walking and plowed right into Capricci, who spilled some of the coffee right onto himself. "Aw, shit," Tony whined.

The entire third row of cubicles had witnessed the entire accident and broke out into peels of laughter. Capricci's eyes narrowed, and he marched straight towards his target angrily. His final destination, however, was not laughing with the rest of the group. Her auburn hair was held together with a pencil; another rested between her teeth as she stared obliviously at the screen. "Hello, Sabrina," he greeted her sincerely.

The woman's pencil dropped from her teeth to the floor, and she spun around in her chair to see who it was. A fury that Doggett rarely saw in women, perhaps except on certain days of the month, possessed this woman's eyes to fill with rage. In fact, for a moment, he almost considered drawing his weapon in defense. It wasn't until she calmed down and smiled pleasantly that his adrenalin rush subsided. Sabrina then proceeded to slap Capricci as hard as she possibly could on the cheek and swiveled back around with her back to him. "Hello, Tony," she replied serenely.

"I'm kind of surprised that you didn't throw a right hook."

"In front of my fellow co-workers? Surely you don't think that I'd be that unprofessional. I'll leave that action to you," she retorted as her eyes scanned over the monitor in front of her.

"Agent Reyes, Agent Doggett, this is Agent Sabrina Wazir," Tony introduced them."How do you do?" Reyes greeted Wazir with a friendly smile, but Wazir refused to even turn around. Doggett had tried to extend his hand in a greeting as well, but it remained to be ignored and invisible.

"Is there a point to all these introductions?" Wazir inquired as she rolled her neck from side to side.

"Look, Sabrina, just because we used to date, doesn't mean that you have to treat some people I work with like shit."

"I'm not angry because we used to date, Tony. I'd appreciate it if you would keep what belongs outside of work in the same place. There's no need to make a scene."

"There's no need to make a scene? You turned around and smacked me in front of everyone! What was I supposed to say? Thank you, dear, for knocking some sense into me?"

"You're welcome," Wazir smirked and began to type.

Capricci grunted and set the remainder of the coffee next to her mouse. "Can you just put our relationship aside for five minutes and do me a favor, please? This is for you, by the way."

Wazir stopped typing and peripherally glanced at the coffee longingly. It did look rather enticing, but she went right back to her previous task. "I suppose we came to the wrong terminal, Agents. Sabrina wouldn't be able to trace what we're looking for anyhow. It'll be too hard for her to figure out," Capricci commented and motioned to the other two to follow him out. "Enjoy the coffee, Sabrina."

The red-headed woman froze from her work. "You have my attention, Tony. This had better be worth my time. You've got two minutes on the clock to get my interest."

"We've got a bank account number and a couple of countries outside North America. We need to know where the money has gone and get hard proof of it," Doggett stated.

"Oh, please. Tony, after a two year relationship, you think a simple hacking job is worthy of me? I could give this job to a first year student at MIT," Wazir scoffed and clucked her tongue onto the roof of her mouth.

"Okay, well, maybe Agent Doggett didn't provide you with enough details. We want to check this account number _without_ being detected by the banks, trace it to every single transaction made outside of the U.S., and how many times the money has quote exchanged hands," Tony declared. "Think you can do that for us?"

"You're getting warmer."

"Try the coffee," Reyes suggested. "It's getting cold."For the first time in five minutes, Wazir made eye contact with one of them. She gave Reyes a sneer but did try the mug of java. "Hmm...you didn't make this coffee, Tony," she reflected with a satisfied smile. "It tastes too good."

"You didn't like my coffee?"

"Hmm...how should I put it...delicately? It wasn't the only reaction I faked."

"I've had enough of this. C'mon, Monica. Let's take this to the guys," Doggett grumbled and spun on his heel.

"No, wait. I'll get you what you want on one condition."

"Name it," Tony said a little too quickly.

"The testosterone patrol may now exit stage left. I've had more than enough of my share for the morning," Wazir commanded.

"You haven't switched to a different baseball team, have you, Sabrina?" Tony inquired.

"Ha, you wish only because you'd want to watch. Dare to dream, Mr. Italy."

As the two men journeyed back to the elevator, Capricci smiled to himself silently. Doggett shook his head and pressed the call button. "Why're you smiling?" he asked.

"There's hope for me yet. That name's got a good connotation."

"Can I ask uh...uh...what came...?"

"Foolish inhibitions of the younger days, that's what came in between us. I was dating her and then thought I could be slick enough to date two women at the same time. As a matter of fact, both of them were FBI agents."

"Did they find out about one another and gang up on you?"

"Not exactly. I...uh...left messages on the wrong machines, and when Sabrina came into my office to confront me about it...Rita and I were-"

"Comparing notes?"

"In flagrante delecto."

"Ouch. I can see what she meant," Doggett remarked.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." They shuffled into the lift. "I'm a terrible guy. But I paid for it. Rita dumped me right then and there without a finish."

"Was her gun involved?"

"No, but her teeth were."

"Enough said," the ex-cop's eyebrows raised as the doors closed.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

501 West Washington St., Indianapolis, Indiana

April 24th, 2001, 8:29 a.m.

Rows of hospital beds now filled the warehouse, and painters on scaffolding worked tirelessly to paint the Goliath windows black from the inside. The Well-Manicured Man kept his surveillance steady on the medical staff, who swept around the structure like a swarm of bees to get the facility ready for its future patients. Once in a great while, a doctor came up to him to ask him a question. However, those doctors were quickly distracted by the orderlies and nurses peppering them with inquiries of their own.

He withdrew a pocket watch from his vest pocket and glanced at it again--Covarrubias was late. But after he placed it back securely in his vest, she walked in the door. "My apologies, sir. It was inconsiderate of me to waste your time--I know how valuable it is," she repented.

"Let's walk outside. It'll be more quiet out there," Well-Manicured Man acknowledged her with a nod and held the door open for her. "We can be in operations in thirty-six hours. The electricity has yet to be installed--that's what our current obstacle is. I believe you're here to report to me about another obstacle; one that's been removed from our path. Am I correct?"

"Campbell's been eliminated. He received a visit this morning from his daughter," Covarrubias told him.

"I thought he was single."

"He was. I chose not to use our informant to complete the task."

"And why would that be?"

"Suppose the Committee votes to stay here. Wouldn't it be wise to keep our contact in the police department?"

"Indeed, it would. However, if we must leave rather unexpectedly, we must leave no ties whatsoever, to our organization," the Well-Manicured Man reminded her. "I have a question for you, and I'd like you answer it as honestly as you possibly can."

"Sir, you know I would never consciously betray or lie to you."

"Good." He stopped dead in his tracks and stood near a truck's cab. "What has happened to Alex Krycek?"

"I thought you knew." Covarrubias paused for a few moments as the driver came in between them to open the door. He took a clipboard from behind the seat and left without a word after shutting the door. "We found his remains in the FBI parking lot garage two months ago."

"Remains? What happened?"

"He was shot through the skull with an automatic weapon--the bullet used was a 9mm. We're not precisely sure who killed him, but we know that for a fact-"

"Mulder?"

"That it was not him. He had already turned in his weapon to the FBI a month beforehand."

"What about his personal firearm?"

"It wasn't a 9mm. He owned a Walther .380."

"What about Strughold's nanite controller?"

"That was not found on the body, and we searched all throughout Krycek's residence for it. Someone has stolen it, and my guess would include Walter Skinner on that short suspect list," Covarrubias surmised. "But don't worry--that wasn't Strughold's only one. And I'm wondering, if he'd let us use the nanotechnology to fight off this virus, this purity substance."

"What about digitalis?"

"It works, but you know what the side effects are; heart arrhythmia, paralysis, and even death. I thought we're trying to save the human race, not kill it in the process," she said as she lifted a gloved hand in an upward motion and swept it across her neck.

"You bring up a good point." Suddenly, his cellular phone rang, and he retrieved it from his coat pocket. "Yes? Strughold, where are you? Well, if you are in Germany, how did you hear about--...she got approval from her superior at the FBI? Yes, she's right here, as a matter of fact. Would you like to speak with Marita?"

Covarrubias came forward and reached for the phone, but he waived her off at the last moment. "No? Well, I don't know, but I'll have to ask her. Yes, Campbell's dead. I told you. And if she cannot, I shall come up with a solution to the situation. Right. See you tomorrow."

He hung up and began to walk away from the truck; she followed him. "What was that about?" she queried.

"Agent Scully is being granted permission to stay here in Indianapolis by Deputy Director Kersh. Strughold was asking me if you have a solution to quickly end her involvement. You see, I told you that in time, you would gain his respect."

"My first thoughts go to the Attorney General, but I cannot legitimately come up with a reason to pull her out of there as of this moment. He always wants a reason, or at the very least, a credible excuse."

"What circumstance is the ultimate family reunion, albeit slightly morbid?"

"A funeral. You're not about to suggest that-"

"No. Death just creates an evanescent scenario for us--a quick fix, as you Americans call it. That was Spender's way, and we are determined now more than ever not to fall down the same treacherous path he carved for us," the Well-Manicured Man said. "I was speaking of abduction."

"Both of them have been taken; both of them would know what the signs are and possibly how to escape."

"Ah, but they have a son now. Did they take him on this trip?"

"I would say no."

"What makes you think that?"

"If I were a mother and an FBI agent, I would not want my child with me, especially since he's that young," Covarrubias reasoned. "As a matter of fact, I would leave him with a trusted family member."

"Ah, yes. Mrs. Scully. I believe she is living alone, is she not?"

"We could send out one of our men to follow her and find out."

"Do it. I don't care how, just have it done by tomorrow morning."

"Should we take him to them?"

"No. Keep him safe for now--we just want to remove Agent Scully from Indianapolis."

"I heard that the child is supposed to be special, though. He'll be safe in the facility. How long should we hold him?"

"I'll leave that decision to you. But when our men strike, it must be in one fell swoop, and no deaths."

"Of course--no deaths."

Indianapolis Police Department, South Precinct, Indianapolis, IN

April 24th, 2001, 9:06 a.m.

Detective Cooper yawned and began to unbutton his trench coat as he stepped through the doors to the precinct. "Good morning," he greeted Sgt. Riker, who simply nodded back without looking up from the reception bureau.

Another police officer approached Cooper. "Detective, there's been a murder in the holding area. Your suspect, the drug dealer, Campbell, is dead," he informed Cooper.

"Oh no. When did this happen?"

"Between six and seven o'clock, sir."

"Why didn't anyone give me a ring?"

"Well, he kind of just finished dying in the last fifteen minutes." Cooper left his coat on and pursued the officer to the jail. "We moved the other prisoners away from him."

"Just what in the _hell_ happened here? Why didn't anybody call the paramedics!"

"I guess no one figured he was dying, sir. We did call them--they're on their way, but...you know what time of the morning it is, sir."

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit!" Cooper grabbed the officer's keys from his belt and let himself into Campbell's cell, making sure he did not disturb the scene. Campbell was on the floor; a large trail of blood on the bed and floor surrounded him entirely. The detective pulled out a pair of latex gloves and cautiously felt for a pulse in his neck with one of them.

"When the ambulance gets here, send them away. There's nothing they can do, like you said," Cooper sighed angrily. "Get the coroner...the Chief Coroner over here now."

"Yes, sir," the officer agreed and left Cooper alone.

He gently pushed Campbell's neck to the other side and found two punctures on it.

"Yikes. Better call his racquetball instructor and let him know that he'll be late for his lesson," Mulder called from the entrance to the jail, and Cooper's head snapped up.

"He's dead," Cooper informed him and got down on one knee to inspect the wounds more closely. "Though I'm not exactly sure of what to make of these stab wounds."

"He's been exsanguinated, Detective," Scully said and brushed by Mulder just outside Campbell's cell. "From the look of it, the attacker stabbed him here at the door and somehow, there was a struggle on the bed. Campbell then fell off and tried to crawl towards the bars for help."

"What time did you get here, Detective?" Mulder questioned him.

"About ten minutes ago, actually. I greeted a few people and before I could get to my office, someone came and told me that about Campbell's condition. What're you two doing here, anyhow?"

"I came by to see how your investigation's been going--my supervisor called me back, and now the FBI has an official concern for this case," Scully replied.

"I just came by for the free donuts," Mulder shrugged with a cavalier grin.

"What's uh, an exsanguination, Agent Scully?"

"The victim is usually pierced with, as you might have guessed, a sharp object in the jugular. Then the heart continues to pump, which is why there is so much blood everywhere." She donned her prophylactics and bent down to examine Campbell. "Two holes. Interesting."

"How so?' Cooper wondered.

"One is usually enough to begin the phlebotomy. But it seems as if this was done to quicken the death, so that twice the amount would spill out. Or perhaps, it was a case of inaccuracy on the killer's behalf. Now that I look at that second piercing, I'm more inclined to believe that theory."

"Why not just shoot him?"

"Someone would've heard the gunshot and possibly had time to rescue Campbell. Was this area being guarded this morning?" Mulder asked.

"As far as I know, it was," Cooper answered him and got up. "Ugh. I just bought these trousers," he growled as he noticed a few droplets of blood on his knee. "I'm going to go find out just how in the hell this guy got popped like this. Excuse me for a minute." He walked out of the cell, and Mulder took his place, careful not to step in anything.

"What're you thinking, Mulder?' Scully pressed her old partner and glanced upward at him.

"I'm thinking that I liked you better with your hair short. I don't know exactly why...I think it's an obstacle for me to get to your neck," he eyed her.

She pursed her lips together, took out another pair of gloves, and handed them to him.

"Hey, you wanted to know. Don't ask, don't tell."

"Don't go there, Mulder."

He shrugged and looked around the cell. Nothing looked unusual. The sheets were rumpled and bloody, the toilet had recently been used, and there looked to be about an inch left of toilet paper on the roll that sat just beside it. "Mmm..."

"The wheels are turning, Mulder. What's coming out?"

"Yeah, but the gears are rusty," he remarked and scratched his cheek. "Well, maybe I haven't lost my touch. I spy something...black."

Scully closed her eyes in vexation but let the feeling go; she remembered that Mulder always needed to play games. She considered buying him a 3D puzzle once when they were the hottest toys on the market, but figured that a model of Capitol Hill wasn't the best choice in gifting at the time. When he wanted to devote himself to something, he gave it his complete all. Seventy-five percent of the other time, he became bored too easily and frequently moved on to the next matter without a second thought.

"Is it animal or vegetable?" she returned.

"Neither," he stated with his eyes glued upon the object.

Scully arose and began to look around the cell. "Okay. Is it a piece of furniture?"

"Go fish."

"Umm...is it liquid?" Honest to God, she hoped that he was not looking at the oil. No, he seemed much too relaxed.

"Go fish," Mulder shook his head.

"Honestly, Mulder," her hands went to her hips indignantly. "I give up."

"I see you, but you usually can't see me. I have only one eye, but if you look through me, I can represent images that flow through your memory."

"What's up with all the riddles these days, Mulder?"

"Just think and follow my eyes, Scully." She gave him a sharp glare but did as she was told and was rewarded for her obedience soon after.

"A camera. No, you haven't lost your touch, Mulder."

"Well, it looks like some little girl claiming to be Campbell's daughter came in earlier this morning to see...him..." Cooper burst back into the jail and trailed off in his thoughts as he found them gaping at something in the air. "What's going on?"

"Uh, nothing. Did she sign in?" Scully asked.

"Yes, but, well...Campbell was single," Cooper stammered. "What are you staring at?"

"Someone that can tell us what happened," Mulder remarked and pointed to the camera.

"Right. Off we go to security, then. Come along. Forensics is itching to get in here and collect all the evidence while it's still mostly fresh." Scully and Mulder tore off their gloves and dumped them into a wastebasket outside the holding area.

"I have much to tell you, Agent Scully," Cooper began. "And the information is mostly from what I gathered yesterday while we were separated."

"Is it all right if I tag along?" Mulder kept walking with Scully and Cooper, although it sounded more like a statement than a request.

"Yes, by all means. I found a deputy coroner's fingerprints all over the autopsy bay. I also found yours, Agent Scully, and Dr. Verne's. However, on the refrigerator, there was only one set of fingerprints and hand imprints, which I would assume to be yours, Agent Scully, since you were the one that opened and shut the door when you hurried to put the cadaver back into cold storage. Does that make sense?"

"So far like dollars and cents," Mulder commented.

"I then found the roster duty for the night and found only one deputy coroner signed in by the name of Bertram Kovach. But, interestingly enough, he wasn't home when I tried to call him. And no one in his apartment building has seen him since yesterday morning," Cooper went on. "You were correct about their methods, Dr. Mulder. We couldn't find any other damning evidence, except for some freon and gasoline in that parking lot. You drive a rental, right, Agent Scully?"

"Yes, a Chrysler," Scully agreed.

"What about Dr. Verne?" Cooper opened the door to the security office, and there he already was.

"What about me?" Jarod questioned the Detective.

"What kind of car do you drive, sir?"

"A 2001 Toyota Celica. Why do you ask?"

"You don't uh...happen to have a gasoline or freon leak, do you?"

"Freon hasn't been used in car air conditioning since the 1980s. And no, I don't believe I have a gas leak."

"You were awfully quick to get up here," Mulder noticed.

"Well, I was called. I would be down in the cell right now examining the body, except that it's rather crowded. And I asked where the surveillance office was--remember that I was once a security guard?" Jarod replied.

"Yes, I recall hearing you say that yesterday," Scully remarked. "Was that before or after your residency in Delaware?"

That question caught him off guard. Perhaps working with an inquisitive FBI agent wasn't a wise idea. But it could just be an innocent inquiry. He chose to answer it as truthfully as possible. "Afterward," he said and cleared his throat.

"Where's the security technician?" Cooper wondered.

"Oh, he just stepped out for a minute. I think this is the camera that caught it all, if I'm not mistaken," Jarod observed and pointed to one of the monitors.

Neither Cooper nor Scully said a word. In fact, both of them were staring directly at Jarod. Mulder was the first to break the tension that had been gathering very quickly in the last two minutes. "It looks like the same angle to me, Scully, what do you say?"

"You may be right," she responded and crossed her arms.

"Sorry about that. Drank too much coffee, had to piss like a racehorse," the surveillance technician, Officer Clancy announced and walked into the office. "What can I help you folks with?"

"We're looking for a murderer. And we're kind of wondering why you didn't catch the person while she was in action," Cooper accused him.

"I...I...I don't know what to say, sir. I'm sorry. I just thought it was a little girl, that's all," Clancy apologized.

"Let's see the footage," Mulder motioned with his head to the monitor. "What time did this girl sign in, Detective?"

"Six thirty-two on the time sheet," Cooper declared and came closer to the desk.

"Let me just...uh...you know, I might have been switching one of the tapes in the VTRs," Clancy suggested as he traveled into the next room and stopped one of them. "These tapes only record for about eight hours or so. And I keep on asking them to upgrade to twenty-four hour machines, or at least some disk recorders so I can keep them in the same room with me."

"Yes, this is a rather crude setup for a police station," Jarod agreed. "Are you the only one on duty here?"

"No, there are 3 other officers. But it happened on my shift, so it is my fault."

"Not necessarily so," Scully shook her head. "Play the tape, please."

"Okay, here we are, at about six thirty-three," Clancy informed them and started the video.

The camera showed a girl that was about nine years old with brown hair and a winter coat journeying into the cell block. Campbell zipped up his pants and faced her. Although there was no audio, everyone could tell from Campbell's body language that he did not know who she was. The girl offered him a greeting card and smiled affectionately at him. He snatched it from her hands, scowled, and then threw it down to the ground. He was just about to turn his back on her when she began to speak.

Campbell leaned forward and a puzzled expression came over his face. He cupped a hand over his ear but still could not understand the girl. She beckoned him closer with one finger, and he knelt down right near the cell bars on one knee. The girl whispered her message and without wasting one more moment, withdrew the fatal stiletto weapon. She stabbed him in the neck, sneaked through the bars, and dragged Campbell by the collar to his bed. He weakly tried to stop the bleeding with one hand.

The girl pried his hand away from his neck and held it down, apparently not satisfied with her work. She brought the stiletto down again and severed the jugular vein in his neck a second time. The blood sprayed against the wall and continued to ooze onto the bed. She let go of his hand and slid back out of the jail. The girl looked up before she left directly at the camera and waived with a devilish grin. Then she walked out with her hands in her coat pockets.

"Remarkable," Jarod commented.

"Unbelievable, that's what it is. How can a girl that young possess that kind of strength or even knowledge of where to stab a bloke fatally in the neck?" Cooper demanded.

"Remember those bodies that were stolen from the morgues, Detective?" Scully reminisced.

"Yes, of course."

"They were killed in the same fashion, but only with one piercing to the jugular each. What else did you find out about our missing dead persons?"

"Oh, Walsh and O'Shaungnessy had only one thing in common with one another: taste in nightlife. I found credit card charges made at Dilvo's at the O'Shaungnessy residence after speaking with the widow. And I discovered a flier in the trash at Walsh's apartment," Cooper told the group.

"The CSI team went back to the drop scenes to try and recover trace evidence. Both bodies were placed a total of equal distance from Dilvo of one half mile. But here's another curious thing; two pairs of boot prints were found near the corpses with two rather familiar substances," Cooper went on.

"Freon and gasoline," Jarod insinuated.

"Correct. Shall we go to my office to discuss this? Thank you for your time, Officer Clancy." He ushered them outside and into a hallway. "Since the bodies were found face down on their stomachs, I would guess that two people picked up one body at a time with the help of a sheet or tarp--no, they must have used a sheet, and then unrolled it into its final resting position."

"Dr. Verne, I just had a revelation. What exactly, was the cause of O'Shaugnessy and Walsh's deaths?" Mulder asked.

They arrived in Cooper's office; all sat down except Jarod.

"Come on, Mulder. They bled to death," Scully rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I know...but I wonder if they did it because they were running out of time."

"Who?" Cooper asked.

"The deputy coroner and the former chief coroner. Tell me, were the levels of digitalis and Ecstasy found to be fatal amounts?" Mulder answered.

"No, they weren't. The traces of digitalis were much more prevalent than the methydioxymethamphetamine, though. I did an experiment yesterday, while I was waiting for the blood analysis to be finished. I took a drop of Walsh's blood with the MDMA and combined it with some digitalis that was there in the lab. The MDMA totally nullified it, over a total time period of about half an hour," Jarod explained.

"Looks like they were trying to kill the oil. But neither succeeded, or thought so, at least, and instead, they murdered both and dropped them for dead," Mulder proposed.

"But one of them did succeed, Mulder. The virus found in Vanessa Walsh's body was dead," Scully informed him. "I find it difficult to believe that a street drug could counteract an alien virus."

"Perhaps it was a combination of cold and the Ecstasy," Jarod said. "I'm still not so sure if I'm buying into the 'alien thing', though."

"Believe what you want, Dr. Verne. All Agent Scully and I are looking for is the truth. So far, you've heard a lot but seen nothing. I understand your frustration," Mulder patronized him. "You're trying to place yourself into Dr. Ward's shoes, right?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, he did supposedly retire a few days ago. What a coincidence--just before the bodies show up and you as well. Tell us, Dr. Verne, what drew you to Indianapolis? I'm not accusing you of anything, don't worry. I'm just curious."

"A lawsuit," Jarod flatly stated. "A lawsuit brought on by a family against a pharmaceutical company named Roush."

Scully's eyes met Mulder's.

"I thought I could find a rat in the coroner's office. Lots of cases in the Indianapolis PD's records are open. Do you know why? Because Dr. Ward never finished his reports."

"What was the cause for the suit?" Scully questioned Jarod.

"A project gone wrong, I guess. I'm not sure, because I hadn't had time to examine the body yet. I wound up in the middle of a pathologist seminar. The case that you saw me present in the hotel was one I'd done in Delaware."

"Well, it turns out that you _did_ smell a rat, Dr. Verne. I didn't used to believe in fate, but now, I'm starting to wonder if I do," Mulder smiled amusedly. "Detective Cooper, you haven't said anything for a long while. Are you all right?"

"To say the least, a lot of this crap is going over my head. I'm caught in the middle of something very nasty going on--for one thing, I don't understand why Campbell was murdered. I also don't understand how a nine year old girl could possibly do what I saw on that surveillance tape," Cooper replied.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I think the traffic from the CSI team should have dwindled down by now, and I'd like to examine the body," Jarod stated and reached for the doorknob. "Agent Scully, would you care to join me?"

"Actually, I...I think I'd better stay here and discuss some things with Detective Cooper. I'd like to go out and see the scenes myself, if possible," Scully answered. "But please, do keep us informed of your discoveries. Here." She handed him her FBI business card. "I might be out in the field."

"Okay, will do."

After he left, Scully exchanged a glance with Mulder. He folded one leg across the other and nodded. "Detective Cooper, you're right. It's difficult to know in times like this who allies or enemies are. I had to be sure that I could trust you with this information before I opened my mouth foolishly," she began.

"Consider yourself as having one more ally. As long my morals aren't compromised as an officer of the law, you can count on me. I'll do whatever it takes to get the truth," Cooper promised.

"What I have to tell you is quite unbelievable. But sometimes, the most inconceivable lie cannot appear to be the truth, and the truth is the easiest lie to conceive."

"Tell me what you know, Agent Scully. But if you can, please keep it to layman's terms. I'm a simple detective, not a scientist."

Half an hour later, Cooper stood from his chair and stretched. "You've had quite a long history with these people. It's amazing you're still alive," he observed. "Would anybody care for a coffee?"

"Yes, please. And could I ask for one favor, Detective?" Mulder inquired.

"What's that?"

"Could you bring back a donut with you?"

"I'll bring back three," Cooper nodded and chortled to himself as he exited the office.

"Any thoughts, Mulder?"

"On life or the case?" Her eyes climbed to the heavens, and she gave him a wan smile. "Oh, that's right. I barely passed my philosophy class my junior year in college. Here's a theory for you that I had been chewing on while you so eloquently told our tale. You know how you thought that the Adams of the Litchfield Projects were back? I think Dr. Ward is one of them. The other's got to be the missing deputy coroner."

"Yeah, but...well...--why not dump the bodies in the same spot? If they murdered Walsh and O'Shaungnessy like you say, why did they distance the corpses from one another?"

"To create confusion, perhaps. Whose body was found first?"

"O'Shaungnessy's, I believe," Scully said.

"All right, while the cops were running around the scene questioning everyone in the club and bystanders, they dumped the other body when no one was looking," Mulder offered.

"I wonder where the murders actually took place."

"A private home, most likely. When Detective Cooper comes back, have him send out a couple of officers to Dr. Ward's home. Or let's go visit him ourselves."

"Mulder, did you bring your personal firearm?"

"Of course, but I was hoping that I wouldn't have to use it, especially since I'm not an officer of the law anymore."

"Hope you like Boston cream; that's all that was left. Somebody did a David Copperfield on those jelly-filled ones," Cooper announced as he re-entered the office and shut the door behind him with his foot. "So, what would you like to do, Agent Scully?"

"Um, Mulder suggested we pay Dr. Ward a visit, that is, if he's still in town," she said and gladly took the styrofoam cup of coffee being offered to her. "It's probable that the murders took place inside a residence."

"Well, we have two suspects and two different homes. Let's divide and conquer. I'll take some men with me, and you can choose your own officers to go with you. It didn't really take me all that long to go get those donuts and coffee. I was out getting my search warrant for Bertram Kovach's apartment."

"How did you manage to get one so quickly?" Mulder inquired.

"I've acquired a few friends in the D.A. office that owe me favors."

"If you _do_ happen to run into Mr. Kovach, apprehend him with caution. He's not a normal man--on the outside, he might appear as such, though," Scully admonished Cooper.

"Will do," Cooper agreed. "Looks like we've got to split up again, Agent Scully. You know, in spite of everything that's been done to the two of you, you're still the nicest Americans I've ever met. I can only hope that one day, all of the injustices that have occurred against you will be settled."

"With men like you that continue to hope and fight, I think there's still a chance," Mulder remarked and shook the detective's hand.

Minutes after they finished their coffee, Cooper approached Sgt. Riker's bureau once more. "Sgt. Riker, please give the address of Dr. Ward, former Chief Coroner of Marion County to the FBI people. Who's in at the moment that can give me a hand? I'm off to Kovach's."

"Well, I've got four men at your disposal. They're all on break now, but, I can get them for you whenever you need," she replied.

"That explains the shortage," Mulder muttered.

Riker's head popped up for that retort with a frown.

"Mulder," Scully's wary tone rebuked him.

"I'll go back and talk to them myself," Cooper waived Riker off and disappeared.

The police sergeant moved away from her desk and turned her back. Seconds later, she had the address and even had printed it out for them. "Thank you. I don't suppose you owe Detective Cooper any favors, do you?" Scully asked her.

"None that I can think of," Riker said and picked up the desk phone as it started to ring.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

501 West Washington St., Indianapolis, Indiana

April 24th, 2001, 11:21 a.m.

The inside windows were now finished, and the rows of hospital beds were made. Doctors, nurses, and orderlies still rushed around like chickens with their heads cut off. Several pairs of men stood on ladders checking lighting fixtures in the ceiling while their partners below pushed them around on carts with interlocking wheels. There was still much to be done if this place were to function--hopefully all of these people's sweat, blood, and tears would be worth it.

But none of this phased Marita Covarrubias from her duty to stay behind and supervise. The sudden harsh chirping of her cell phone drew her outside. "Yes, this is Marita. What? How? Never mind. Well, did you alert the Adams? Good. No. Stay at your post for the rest of the day and proceed with your normal duties. Don't call me for another twenty-four hours." She pressed the talk button, only to be harangued by another phone call.

"Hello, this is Marita. You started the surveillance? Excellent. Mmm..." Covarrubias stilled as she listened to the other half of the conversation. "Mmhmm, yes, I agree. You can't wait until the cover of night? Why not? A neighborhood watch--that's strange! Okay--get him ASAP and bring him to the facility."

518 Crown Blvd, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 24th, 2001, 11:44 a.m.

Two police officers stood on the doorstep with Mulder and Scully resting their hands upon their service semi-automatic pistols. They had been told that this suspect could be very dangerous, and neither one of them wanted to be caught off-guard with his pants down.

Scully rang the doorbell and eyed her male counterparts. She felt relatively safe with them and secretly hoped that nothing bad would occur. But, just in case, she slipped one of the safeties off on her SIG Sauer that was nestled in her hip holster.

To her surprise, a man in his late forties answered the door. His black hair was just commencing to gray, and his blue eyes penetrated hers coldly. "Pardon, me, sir? Are you Dr. Bartholomew Ward?" she inquired and reached into her coat.

"Yes, that's me. What can I do for you?" Ward's eyes left hers to briefly size up the other three men in view but returned to her once she held up her identification.

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, and I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you'll permit me to do so." Scully pocketed her badge and kept her professional mask up, though she was suddenly dreading the thought of having to pull her weapon on this deadly suspect.

"Certainly. Please, come in." He ushered all four officers in and shut the door behind them. "I suspect you'll be wanting to ask me if I had anything to do with these."

Ward motioned their attention to a newspaper, whose headline screamed with bold capital letters "TWO MURDERED CORPSES STOLEN FROM MORGUES!"

"You suspect correctly," Mulder agreed. "You don't look old enough to be of the retiring age yet, and the murders did occur a few days after you did so."

"Would you care for something to drink? I've got some coffee left in the pot," Ward ignored his accusation and headed towards the kitchen.

"No, thank you," Scully said. She signaled one officer to pursue Ward with her head, and he silently obeyed her.

"And how about you?" Ward offered the cop as he followed the ex-coroner into the kitchen.

"I don't like this, Scully. Something doesn't feel right," Mulder whispered into her ear."What is it?"

"Where is the deputy coroner? Serial killers that work in pairs usually live very close to one another, if not together." Mulder bit his lip in thought. "And they do have the advantage over us right now, which reminds me, did we warn the cops not to drink anything from him before we left the station?"

"Um...I don't recall...shit..." Scully trailed off. "Officer? Did I warn anyone _not_ to drink anything offered by our suspects?" she inquired to the man standing beside them in the foyer.

"Ah, I don't think so, but we just had a large dose of caffeine back at the station," he replied and scratched the back of his head. "So I doubt he'd take anything from Ward."

"Sorry about that--I needed some water. My throat gets dry very easily," Ward declared as he came back with the other officer, who was indeed empty handed.

Scully inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, and she was positively sure that she saw Mulder's shoulders relax from the tension of the moment. "Dr. Ward, we'd like to ask you if you know anything regarding the whereabouts of Deputy Coroner Kovach," she continued.

"I know nothing. I retired because I was tired of the long hours; perhaps I'll go into laboratory work now. It's so much more rewarding," Ward returned smoothly.

"We found some footprints at the scenes where those stolen bodies were originally left, and I'd like to peruse your shoe collection, if I may."

"I'll cooperate, but I don't wear boots."

"Who said they were boot prints?" Mulder questioned him with a suspicious eyebrow.

"Dr. Ward, where do you keep your footwear?" Scully pressed, and her hands went to her hips.

"In my front closet." He spun around on his heel and opened the door for them.

Mulder donned his latex gloves and removed four pairs: running shoes, walking shoes, Oxfords, and a pair of sandals. He lifted each shoe to his nostrils and inhaled; the Oxfords did have the scent of chemicals on them. "Do you own a car, Dr. Ward?" he asked.

"Yes, I do. It's a '98 Eclipse. Care to take a spin?"

"No, but with your permission, we'd like to examine your car," Scully stated.

"For what, bloodstains? Don't waste your time," Ward spat back but kept his tone even."I thought you said you'd cooperate," Mulder reminded the ex-coroner and pointed the Oxford at him poignantly.

Ward's gait remained passive as he turned his back towards the party and traveled to his kitchen. "It's in the garage. This way." He slid the keyring remote off of a peg that rested next to a collection of mugs and palmed it. The ex-coroner opened the back door for his four visitors and secretly pushed the 'panic' button on the remote.

Brooksgate Apartments, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 24th, 2001, 11:48 a.m.

"Dr. Kovach, open up, it's the police," Detective Cooper banged on the door.

His accompanying officers walked up to him and held up a small envelope with two swabs inside of it. "Freon and gasoline. The puddles weren't too big; that car's long gone," one of them said.

"We searched the lot and found one car from the '80s. But it's leaking neither fluid," the other informed Cooper.

"Dr. Kovach, we have a search warrant!" Cooper shouted. There still was no answer. Sighing resentfully, he removed a pick lock from his spring jacket and twisted it into the lock.The three police officials cautiously entered the apartment. Two minutes later, after finding no one, they began to scour the apartment for evidence. "Get all of his shoes out. See if you can find whatever looks like a stabbing weapon. Look for that drug--it's got a greenish tint to it," Cooper ordered his underlings.

"Detective," the shorter one called to him. Cooper headed towards the bathroom and stopped at the entrance. "Shower curtain's missing. Guess they wrapped 'em in it to transport the bodies."

"Yes, it is gone. And the bathtub's been bleached recently, I see. Time to call forensics--boy, they probably hate my guts. That's the right expression, isn't it?" he asked and pulled out his cell phone.

"Yeah," the cop responded.

Before Cooper could dial, the apartment's land line rang. All three men ignored it, until the answering machine picked up. "Hello, members of the Indianapolis Police Department. Your parking meter's time has now expired."

"What the hell?" Cooper began.

"Detective!" the taller man yelled and exposed a closet filled to the brim with C-4.

"Oh my god," Cooper whispered to himself.

There was a brilliant flash and an ear-splitting explosion that tore through the apartment downstairs first, and then it completely demolished the one above it as well.

One block away, Dr. Bertram Kovach removed his sunglasses and turned off the red LED that had been blinking on his keyring remote by depressing the word 'panic'.

518 Crown Blvd, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 24th, 2001, 12:27 p.m.

"Let's take these shoes back to your forensics' department," Scully stated and handed them to the police officers.

Unfortunately, they did not find anything else, but the Oxfords were a start.

"Don't leave town anytime soon, Dr. Ward. We'll be in touch," she commanded him and stormed off with Mulder at her heels.

"Hope we get something off of those shoes," Mulder muttered as he opened the car door for her and then journeyed to the passenger side.

"Could you identify either of the smells?" Scully inquired.

"Not really. I'm Mulder the plumber, not Mulder the mechanic," he shrugged and buckled himself in.

"Since when did you take up plumbing?"

"Oh, ever since my neighbor Helen had a problem. I'd just come into my apartment hallway, and she asked me to come and take a look under her sink."

"I assume this is a new neighbor, since she was completely ignorant of some of your other plumbing solutions," Scully retorted.

"I don't know how new--maybe a month or so. And I did fix her sink, by the way."

"Just how long has this quote fixed sink been working?"

"Probably a little over a week. She even invited me over to dinner."

Scully's eyebrow shot up to the heavens, and her tongue flicked over the top of her lips. This particular body language spoke high volumes of jealousy, or so Mulder had come to find out in their nine year partnership. At one time, it had felt good to know that she would even think about competing for his affections. But he was definitely serious about moving forward in their relationship, and it was time to quell those suspicions immediately.

"But I turned her down, Scully. You know there's only one woman's cooking for me," he teased and gave a grand dramatic pause. "Julia Childs'."

"Mulder, so help me, God..." she grunted and reached across the seat to ruffle his hair.

"Are you coming on to me, Agent Scully?"

"I-" Her cell phone would not let her finish a saucy comeback; it pleaded to be answered.

"Scully."

"Scully, this is John Doggett. I'm sorry to interrupt you out in the field like this, but it happened to me, too," the FBI agent began.

"That's all right, Agent Doggett. Mulder and I were just going back to the police station." She started the car and switched the phone over to her other ear.

"Agent Scully...Dana..." he cleared his throat, and this made Scully extremely nervous.

Not only was Doggett choking up in the middle of a sentence, he had also called her by her first name. She shut the engine off right away and leaned forward.

"Scully, what's wrong?" Mulder asked.

"Scully, they got your son--he's been taken."

Her mouth dropped open, and she covered her heart. "I..." she breathed. "Tell me it's not true."

"I only wish I...that I were lying," he returned somberly.

"God, no." Scully gritted her teeth together. "God, no."

"Scully, don't hang up."

The tears that so rarely came through her eyes now poured forth like the April rains. "Dana, don't hang up!" Doggett's voice pleaded as she let the phone fall down onto the floor. Her hands instinctively came up to protect her forehead as it banged up against the steering wheel.

"Scully!" Mulder yelled and undid his seatbelt.

"They got him. They got him," she repeated over and over again until Mulder's hand caressed her face.

"Who?"

"Our son."

TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
